


The Sterling Nightingale

by CrashingPetals



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Annie is a sweetheart, District 1 charm, District 4, F/M, Finnick Odair - Freeform, Finnick Odair/OC romance, Finnick eventually falls for her despite the fact that she makes him want to pull his hair out, Hunger Games, Protective Finnick, Scarlet Pimpernel inspired, She's the Sterling Nightingale extraordinaire, Silver Lamprey Cornelius is a total fop, Slow Burn, You've been warned, hate turned love, mature scenes in the later chapters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2019-07-04 00:51:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 76
Words: 395,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15830364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrashingPetals/pseuds/CrashingPetals
Summary: Hidden beneath masks and glamours too intricate to unravel, the Sterling Nightingale’s self-bestowed mission is to smuggle prisoners out of the Capitol to District 13, much to President Snow’s fury.  He hunts the spy endlessly, only to be continuously outwitted.  The reason?  He is not looking in the right places.  Silver Lamprey Cornelius is not your standard Victor, after all.Finnick has always seen Sil as a brainless fop.  For a fellow Victor, she certainly doesn’t act the part.  He’s never given her the time of day, until President Snow decides to entwine their fates together.  Almost overnight, Finnick and Sil go from being complete strangers to being wildly in love.  Of course, Finnick couldn’t actually fall for an idiot like her……Until he does, and suddenly he realizes that there is a lot more to her than meets the eye.





	1. It is the in between

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome! This story is based off of The Scarlet Pimpernel, by Emma Orczy. It is my own take on a Finnick Odair/OC story. I’ve been writing this story for the last couple of years on and off, but it is now completely finished. I update every Tuesday and Friday. I hope you enjoy my take on this classic story, as well as my interpretation of Suzanne Collins’ world!

**Chapter One | It is the in between**

_“We must prove to the world that we are all nincompoops.” Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_  

Parties in the Capitol are divine. The elite gather to discuss important subjects, such as what the latest Victor is up to or who is appearing on Caesar Flickerman’s talk show next. Every color of drink imaginable is passed around in sleek stemmed glasses, and people laugh over their gossip. And in the center of this divinity is one woman, one Victor who desperately enjoys spreading that gossip – or so people think.

“Oh tell us the latest, Sil darling. You always know just the perfect things to talk about,” a Capitol woman gushes.

Sil giggles daintily, raising up a silk gloved hand to demurely cover her smiling lips as she is passed yet another stemmed glass of the Capitol’s finest. No expenses are spared, of course, when Silver Lamprey Cornelius is at a party.

Sil leans into the woman and laughingly says, “I’m really not sure what on earth you mean, my love – I do not gossip, I merely…” she waves a hand dramatically and says, “…speculate.” Her group of mooning Capitol enthusiasts laugh.

A man in an orange tailored suit complete with silver sequins winks, “And we so adore your speculations, don’t we?”

Everyone, and that means _everyone,_ nods eagerly. Sil tosses her head back and laughs musically. Everything about her is musical – from her flowing pink ballerina-esque gown to the way she smiles and claims, “Oh dear, no. But…well, if you insist…”

Oh, they do. As she launches into a tale of her District 1 stylist, they excitedly eat up her words as if they are her lapdogs eating out of her silk gloved fingers.

She understands these people. Perhaps that is why she’s so good at their little games. She understands the dreary lives that await them when they are forced to abandon their parties and return to their realities. Wives, husbands, children? Boring. But listening to Sil’s risqué stories about the latest gala she’s been to is apparently enough to make them forget about all of that dreadful business. And besides, she’s good at weaving stories. She’s so good that there isn’t a single Capitol citizen who doesn’t know her and practically none who has never sat there and listened to her speak – with starry eyes and rapt attention, even when her own attention is miles away.

Across the room Sil meets someone’s eyes. It is a fleeting look, but there is a slight lingering nature to their gaze. The man – her associate, for lack of a better term – sends her the subtlest nod and turns immediately, disappearing into the crowd. Sil leans back as if the entire exchange never happened. Indeed, to everyone around her, it had not.

“ – And do you know what I said?” she exclaims, plunging expertly back into her story without pause. Her lips forming a perfect ‘O’, as if she is as shocked as they are. Everyone chimes in to ask what, what she’d said, what she’d did, what happens next. She pauses just to drag out the anticipation and then whispers lowly so that people have to lean in to hear her, “I said, ‘darling, I know you dress like a slob for attention but I will not – _will not_ – let you put me into that horrid purple dress.’”

“Oh Sil you didn’t!” a woman bursts out, exchanging shocked and delightful looks with her fellow Capitol women.

Sil leans back as if her story is finished, then tosses her mane of silvery blonde hair behind her shoulder. In a pretentious voice, she nods and astutely tells them, “Purple really isn’t my color anyhow, you know. It clashes with my lipstick.” They are too mesmerized with her to realize how silly she sounds. Or perhaps not.

One of them chuckles indulgently and says, “Surely that isn’t all you think about?”

The man who had spoken is rewarded with a horrified expression from Sil and a tittering mass of giggles from the others.

“I beg your pardon?” Sil demands, her face an impeccable mask of indignation. “Men,” she says and waves her fingers at the man as if she thinks he is utterly audacious and not worthy of her time. In a trilling voice, she says, “You simply do not realize the troubles women go through in order to find the perfect shade of lipstick.” There is a hum of agreement from her lady friends. The man sits back, exchanging yet another indulgent look with another of his colleagues, who chuckles.

Let them think that she is shallow. That is good. Let them think that all she cares about is lipstick and gossiping about her stylist. Good. If they know what she’s really doing then surely they wouldn’t find her as amicable as they do right now. Of course, funding rebellions and being the greatest spy in Panem’s history is never easy, but then Silver Lamprey Cornelius has always loved a good challenge. And bringing the Capitol down from the inside out? Now that is a challenge worth fighting for…not that anyone else knows about it of course. To everyone else, she is only a stupid Victor from District 1 who had somehow managed to win her Games and is somehow aware of gossip that no one else has ever heard of.

She is neither stupid nor shallow, and in actuality couldn’t care less about lipstick or gowns or whether the color purple suits her. It is all a front. A mask that hides the calculating, intelligent side of her that dwells beneath her sparkling, Capitol-engineered smile.

“My love,” Sil says after a moment, eyeing a woman’s hat with interested eyes, “that is a wonderfully made cloche. Wherever did you get it? You simply must tell me so I can get one for my very own.” The compliment makes the Capitol woman look a little dazed. Directions are given point blank, and the name of the hat shop is written down in Sil’s elegant, loopy handwriting as she pens it over her electronic PAAD that she always brings with her wherever she goes, for purposes like this – as well as scheduling other things of a more rebellious nature, but no one needs to know about that.

“Would you like another drink, Sil darling?” someone asks, already holding out a stemmed glass filled with pink liquor.

Sil pauses, taps her lip, and says, “I really must be getting home…oh but you’ve convinced me. Shall we make a toast?” She takes the glass and holds it up, and everyone around her scrambles to find a drink so as to join in. With a musical laugh that makes their eyes go starry, Sil exclaims happily, “To our dear President Snow!”

Everyone chimes in and there is a delicate clinking of glasses as they all struggle to press their drinks against Sil’s. And Sil? She just leans back and lifts her glass to her lipstick covered mouth, smiling demurely and crossing her legs with an elegance that seems to transcend every other woman in the entire building. And against the rim of her glass she presses her frown, and her loathing, and all of her well-concealed anger. Because she is Silver Lamprey Cornelius, Victor from District 1, the Capitol baby and socialite, and she does not have a rebellious bone in her body. She has gone to tremendous lengths to ensure that they all believe it.

* * *

 

At the corner of the deserted neighborhood on South Main Street and 4th Avenue, a little pawn shop sits, hunched between a barber shop and a small run down pharmacist. It is a humble place. The paint is chipping off the sign that swings down from above the doorway, which claims the title, ‘Sterling Silver Consignments.’ The name is rather audacious to anyone with an overly discerning eye. It’s also misleading. Perhaps the shop used to do consignments, but no longer. Now it is merely a gold and silver exchange where wealthy Capitol women frequent if they need some extra cash and don’t want to ask their wealthy husbands for a payout.

“Mr. Dorsey my love, how are you?” Sil asks loudly as she pushes the door of the humble little shop open. A bell sounds as it brushes against the frame. It seems to awake the snoring man who’s currently passed out at the counter. Mr. Dorsey snorts awake, eyes wide and confused, and mumbles something about fried eggs and tomatoes. He blinks awake.

“Ah…Silver. Do come in,” he says upon seeing who is customer is. He waves a hand at his shop – a shop that socialite Silver Lamprey Cornelius wouldn’t be found dead in – and slumps forward once more. “Did you say something before?” he asks, tilting his head, and Sil rolls her eyes.

“I inquired into your health,” she dryly tells him, sidestepping the sluggish, fat pug that Mr. Dorsey keeps as a pet. The animal is sprawled out over a threadbare rug that is the only embellishment to the abysmal state of the aged floorboards. Indeed the décor leaves much to be desired. The walls are old and decaying in several places, featuring brown water stains and peeling wallpaper. It is an old, vintage pattern that screams ‘pre-Games era’. And that, above all else, it what makes Sil have to be careful about coming here.

The real Silver likes anything vintage – she is in fact mesmerized by pre-Games artifacts. Her collection of them in her District 1 house is probably the only one in Panem. Snow doesn’t exactly like reminders of those dark days before his precious Games. But then, Snow also doesn’t know a great many things about her. And he certainly doesn’t have reason to suspect that she harbors any such artifacts or is at all interested in anything besides fashion. The Sil that she portrays to the Capitol would scoff at this shop and probably refuse to step foot inside.

Mr. Dorsey smiles at her and only says, “I’m still alive, aren’t I?” It is so like him that Sil rolls her eyes again.

“Indeed,” she drawls sarcastically, though inside she is thinking that if this is his definition of being alive, then she’d be so alive that she would have already transcended mortality by now.

Mr. Dorsey is a surprisingly tall man, and younger than one might expect. He has a wavy, thick head of golden-gray hair that he never brushes, and so it always just sticks up in different places and remains ruffled against his forehead. His eyes are an honest shade of brown, and they’re usually covered in a daze of either alcohol or sleep. He is almost always holding a cigarette between his fingers, and hardly worries about whether he is smoking inside or out. Because of this his shop is usually foggy and thick due to his constant smoking. It’s certainly a good way of keeping the random shopper out of the way.

Sil waves a hand in front of her face as she steps up to the counter. She reaches for an expensive looking golden bracelet that is hanging off her gloved arm. As she lays it onto the counter, she tells him, “This was my grandmother’s, you know, so do be careful with it darling.”

It wasn’t her grandmother’s. She never even met her grandmother before the old hag passed. No one has to know that. Mr. Dorsey doesn’t appear to care whose it was, just that it is now his – er, well, the rebellion’s anyway. He takes it and lifts it up, eyeing the sparkling gemstones.

“Amethysts,” Sil tells him, swaying slightly as she tries to peel off her left glove. It is a long thing that goes all the way up to her elbow, and takes certain finesse to remove.

“You really wouldn’t believe the amount of jewelry I find just laying around my house,” she smiles secretively, and finally jerks the glove off. There, on her wrists and fingers, are about a dozen bracelets and rings. Each of them looks expensive and delicate, and definitely worth quite a bit of money. She catches Mr. Dorsey’s amused expression and they both chuckle as she drops each piece onto the counter.

“I’m sure it isn’t because you make them yourself,” he says with a laugh, and Sil gives him a horrified look.

“Dear me! Make them myself?! Do you think I am a common laborer?” she demands, her voice the perfect imitation of indignation. But the way her eyes shine with laughter makes her friend and confidante shake his head with a grin.

District 1 is known for several things above all else, and those things are the glass, wine, and jewelry it produces. Sil’s father used to be one of the greatest goldsmiths of his time. He could make anything from a block of gold, but his specialty had been creating beautiful pieces of jewelry. He would get so many commissions from the Capitol that he quickly became one of the richest men in District 1. He is still alive but is now too old to do the delicate work he once did, and has passed down his tradition to his only daughter.

The only problem is that Sil isn’t allowed to use her skills publicly, because then people would naturally think that she is talented. And that is definitely something she wants to hide, so Sil only creates in private. After winning her Games seven years ago, it is the only thing that makes her nightmares disappear even for a moment. There is nothing like the smoldering, precise labor of tapping gold into tiny links. It does more than clear her head – it gives her something to work for. And helps fund the rebellion that only a handful of people are aware is brewing.

“You’ve been busy, I see,” Mr. Dorsey says, leaning forward to inspect a particularly beautiful chain. It is quite elegant and looks painstakingly put together. One of her finest pieces over the last few months, to be sure, even though it is simple compared to the other, more gaudy pieces.

She taps her ungloved fingers on the counter and says breezily, “No more than usual, really. Only it’s taken me quite a while to find the time to see you, that’s all.”

Her time is valuable, for several reasons, but mostly because Snow enjoys keeping one eye on her. Her official Talent is fashion design, but her unofficial one – the one Snow forced upon her years before – is socializing. She attends parties and gathers information about potential citizens who may become problems for Snow in the future. Of course no one knows this but a select few. And no one but her and District 13 knows about the way she rescues said citizens after ‘condemning’ them.

Anyhow, Mr. Dorsey plays his part very well, especially considering that he is actually a rebel himself. He’d been born in District 13, and raised a soldier, or so he tells her. He was stationed here in the Capitol sometime before Sil’s Games, and has been living here for about a decade now. His back story hides all his connection with his home. He is Sil’s tie to the rebellion, her source of news as well as her broker.

At first she’d been skeptical of him and of his competency, just as he had been about her no doubt. But the years of them working together has changed whatever insecurities she’d had of him. No one would ever suspect that this nobody, poor pawn broker is a District 13 rebel. Just as no one would ever think that Silver Lamprey Cornelius is in cohorts with him.

“Now that that dreary business is out the way, how are our guests?” she asks, and suddenly her mask is stripped away. In place of the shallow, insipid Victor is a powerful, vengeful young woman. The change is radical and surprising, even after all these years of working with her. Mr. Dorsey stares and shakes his head slowly.

“I’ll never get used to that,” he mutters, and Sil raises an impeccably sarcastic eyebrow at him, impatient.

“They’re in the back. Tommy’s with them,” he says louder, and the curtain that drapes over the doorway to the backroom flutters as a head pokes out.

“You’re really good at your acting, Silver,” Tommy, the man in question, says with a boyish wink, “For a while there even I thought you were the stupid Victor you pretend to be. Imagine that!” Sil rolls her eyes and steps around the counter, throwing back the curtain as she gingerly enters the backroom.

“Mr. and Mrs. Helloise, I presume?” Sil inquires of the Capitol couple who are huddled beside each other on the bench. They stare at her in surprise (probably because they hardly thought her capable of being involved in this, this being escaping the Capitol of course). Strange, perhaps, that she would help Capitolites escape from their own city, but then again they are not Captiol sympathizers. They are on their way to District 13 where they can start a new life, and she will help them get there.

“Miss Cornelius – I, that is, we didn’t think you were the one responsible in assisting us – “ Mr. Helloise splutters, and Sil waves her elegantly gloved hand.

“My dear Mr. Helloise, while I can certainly understand your…shock, your rescue is a joint effort performed by many people, not only myself. And while we’re on the subject, Tommy, why don’t you prepare the car?” she asks, and her associate nods.

Tommy and her work together usually. There are others faithful to the rebellion who sometimes help, but to be honest, Sil trusts Tommy more than any of them. They’ve worked together the longest, after all. Ever since she won her Games, they’re been partners in crime, to put dramatically.

He nods, shakes out his dark curly hair as he leaves the room through yet another backdoor. It empties him onto a deserted side street where a car dawdles idly, waiting for its passengers. The moment he leaves, Sil tears her other glove off her arm and crassly throws it over one shoulder to join the other. Her wrists and fingers are now free of bandied jewelry, and as she kneels by a trunk and starts pulling out clothes, she says in a no-nonsense tone, “Put these on, and the shoes too. Tonight you are not wealthy citizens of the Capitol – you are poor street rats. We will be escorting you to the border, where an armed truck will be waiting to take you to the jet, which will then take you to 13. Here – your new IDs.” She fishes the two identification cards out of a sewn hem in her dress, ripping the thread so as to pull them out. The couple takes the passes robotically, as if they can’t believe this is actually happening – that Silver Lamprey Cornelius, the fop of Panem, is actually in charge of their escape.

Sil tosses them their new clothes and they start changing, awkwardly turning to face the wall as they dress.

“Questions?” she asks once they're done. Her refugees pause, look at each other, and then blurt, “But how can you be a rebel? I don’t understand – “ Sil laughs.

“Darlings,” she says dramatically, but instead of sounding like her stupid alter ego, there is a sarcastic drawl to her voice now that catches their attention. Mr. Helloise takes his wife’s hand as they stare at her. “Who would ever expect a dumb, air-headed socialite to be the mastermind of the rebellion? I am very good at hiding in plain sight. Just look at how shocked you both are,” she winks at them and they share tiny smiles, until…

Mr. Helloise frowns and slowly says, “The mastermind? But surely you aren’t the mastermind? Not the one they’ve all been talking about – the Sterling Nightingale - “

“Never mind who I am,” Sil says, ushering them to the door. “Now come. No doubt there are people already searching for you. We must get you out of the Capitol immediately.” She peeks her head out the door and Tommy glances up at her as he leans against the car. He nods and she steps outside. She opens the door and the couple clamor inside.

“Be careful,” Sil says to Tommy, whose boyish features wrinkle into a careless smile. In truth, there is nothing careless about him. He is even more of a planner than she is, and that is saying quite a lot. She drags him to the side for a moment and murmurs, “There are two more parties Snow is making me attend this week. Will you be there?” He tells her yes, he will, because parties are of course the best distraction when one is trying to smuggle someone out of the Capitol. Sil rolls her eyes at him and mutters, “I wish I could come with you but – “

“I know, Silver. Don’t worry,” Tommy assures her, and walks back to the car. “Dorsey will let you know if anything should happen.” She nods and watches as he closes the car door and pulls out onto the street, then before he turns the corner Sil disappears once more into Mr. Dorsey’s shop.

The man is waiting at the front. When she reappears, he leans back and wonders, “Said your heartfelt farewells? You know Tommy’s good at what he does, Sil. You don’t need to accompany him on every job.”

She frowns and mutters, “I know. But if he ever gets caught because of me…” she trails off, only for Mr. Dorsey to raise his eyebrows and insist, “Then you’ll find a way to get him to 13 before they execute him. You always do.” His confidence in her does uplift her spirits, and so does the little black metal box that he pulls onto the counter.

It’s full of technological odds and ends – things for her spying. He smiles at her eager expression and says, “You said you ran out of your contacts, didn’t you? 13 sent me more. And they also sent some new things too. You’ll like this one – it’s a new recorder. They’re also real buttons you can sew onto clothing so you always have them with you. Ingenious right?”

She hums in agreement and slips the contacts into her clutch. They’re special because they are very heat sensitive. They allow her to see when another person is present, even when they are hidden from view, simply by picking up on body heat. They’re also very expensive – or so she assumes. District 13 funds her free of charge, sort of. Considering the amount of money she’s thrown their way over the years, they certainly aren’t going to make her pay for anything.

Dorsey also gives her a new automatic pistol, the size of her palm. It’s tiny and perfect for stowing away in a boot or even a bra. She thinks it’s a little amusing, stuffing a gun against your breast. When she comments on how she’ll soon have the most killer chest in all of Panem, Mr. Dorsey rolls his eyes.

“There hasn’t been any recent news, has there?” Sil wonders as she puts everything away. Mr. Dorsey shuts the metal box and shakes his head, glancing up at her with a frown.

“No. But you’ll be the first to know if 13 does tell me anything,” he says, and she believes him.

Sil watches him carefully, eyes sharp and cunning, and then at once she tips her head back a laughs musically. She is Sil once more, socialite and the Capitol’s baby, but her eyes are still dangerous.  
“Of course, my love. You know how much I appreciate updates, especially considering how much money I _donate.”_ She says the word as if she’s talking about a charity case or some such thing, but Mr. Dorsey knows that she is as serious about the rebellion as he is. He nods graciously.

“Certainly, Silver. You know I’ll contact you should anything happen,” he tells her, and she smiles prettily at him and leans in to murmur quietly, “Good. I should hate to think what might happen if District 13 leaves me out of the plans. I’m a soldier and I like a fight as much as anyone.” Her eyes flicker up to his, and the emerald green irises seem to almost see right through him.

She pulls back before he can reply, tugs her glove back up her arm, and flutters her fingers at him. “Now I really must be going, darling – the Capitol cannot survive without me, you know, and I have another party to get ready for.” She steps back and opens the door. But before she leaves, she turns back and says more seriously, “I’ll be back as soon as I can. And thanks for the supplies.” Mr. Dorsey nods, waving her on, and she dances out of the door and into the streets of the Capitol, immediately blending back into society as if she has simply turned yet another page of her personality.

* * *

 

None of the other Victors truly understand Silver Lamprey Cornelius. Perhaps it is because she is District 1. Most likely it has more to do with the fact that she appears to enjoy seeking out the company of the Capitol. Which is, of course, a huge disgrace to those Victors who are targeted by the very same Capitol. Needless to say, it doesn’t exactly put her in their good graces, but neither do they pay much attention to her or think very badly of her. To them she is just…Sil. Just a stupid Victor from District 1 who somehow won her Games. None of them really understand how that happened, actually, even though they were alive to witness it.

The Sil of the 68th Hunger Games is rather similar to the Sil of today. She won her Games primarily through sponsorship – not truly surprising considering how much the Capitol adores her. She had relied almost exclusively on her father’s help back then. When he was still working every day at his craft and taking commissions for jewelry, Gemma Cornelius would often take her to the Capitol during his shipments. He was nothing if not particular, and since the Capitol is so close to District 1, they would usually go together. Her mother hadn’t been around when she was a child. She went everywhere with her father.

Through her father, Sil created a name for herself in the Capitol even before her Games. The friends she’d made in that time helped her tremendously in the Arena. Of course, she hadn’t been completely incompetent back then, but most of her training had occurred after she won her Games and decided to take up the rebellion’s cause.

She is only a few years younger that most of the older Victors, but they don’t really understand her even after seven years of having her around.

“Darlings, you’ve all made it! How wonderful it is to see you all again,” Sil exclaims as she bounces up to them. Them being all the Victors who are presently in the Capitol and have no other commitments. Johanna Mason, Enobaria and Brutus from 2, Gloss and Cashmere from 1…and of course Finnick Odair, the Capitol Daydream. They all look up at her approach and, for the most part, greet her as amicably as they can.

She is dressed to the nines, not that this is particularly surprising. Sil has the most outrageous outfits. She puts Capitol women to shame, sometimes. It’s really quite fascinating to see what she comes up with. Tonight it is a red swarthy gown of sheer chiffon and a small underdress that rushes up to her neck but drops off somewhere midthigh. The chiffon swings all the way to the floor in heaps of fabric and is gathered by her right knee with a silver brooch sparkling with rubies. Her hair is piled up atop her head in a crazy, messy updo. It rather makes for a cringe-worthy sight, at least to some of them who find her Capitol fashion as revolting as her other Capitol-centric interests.

“Sil,” Johanna greets dryly, and eyes Sil’s glass of pink wine. “I see you’ve started drinking.” Sil merely laughs at this.

“My love, it’s a _party._ Live a little! I see you’ve changed your hairstyle. Darling it suits you, truly. Oh, Gloss, did I mention that father’s been asking after you? You and Cashmere simply must come over for dinner the moment we return to District 1 – I insist.” She rattles off for several more minutes, expertly weaving the tide of the conversation to dreadfully boring things – at least to a Victor. She chatters on about the new fabrics she’s recently acquired from District 11 (“And do you know I’ve never seen a shade of gold so divine?”), and then skips to the topic of the most recent Games.

“I haven’t yet met Miss Everdeen and her star-crossed love,” she giggles at this and inquires, “Wherever are they?”

The drone of the speech pauses, and everyone seems to scramble out of whatever daydream they’d been having while she spoke. When they don’t immediately respond, Sil raises an eyebrow and says, “Dear me, you’re all so positively boring! Oh, excuse me, I see my good friend over there. I’m afraid I must leave you now, do be sure not to fall asleep my loves.”

She smiles daintily at Johanna, but something intelligent catches in her gaze as she stares at the District 7 Victor. Johanna stares back as Sil turns on her heel and flags down Tommy, who is idly drinking a stemmed glass of champagne several meters away. She cuts across the room like she’s on fire, and the moment she steps out into the crowd, people converge on her like she’s the sun that they all rotate around. It’s rather exhausting to watch, actually.

“God, how do you deal with her in District 1?” Brutus grits out, staring over at Gloss and Cashmere. Finnick smirks. He often wonders the same thing and finds himself quite thankful that Districts 1 and 4 are not so close together.

Cashmere grumbles, “Actually she stays to herself mostly.”

Gloss nods and glances at his sister. “You’re right. Though she still goes out a lot. Probably to parties. We don’t see her much in the Village though. She lives at her family estate with her father.” _Thank God,_ he seems to think.

Finnick glances over at where Sil is now teetering in her four inch heels, a contemplative look on his face. He’s always wondered about her. How Snow treats her, mostly. He knows she doesn’t do what he does, but he also knows that Snow manipulates almost all of his Victors in some way. Is Sil also manipulated? Something inside him has always told him that there’s something else going on. Some form of manipulation that Sil does not speak of.

She tilts her head back with a laugh and bursts into speech, though she is too far away and the music is too loud for him to hear what she says. It is almost fascinating to watch her with these Capitol citizens. She dresses as one of them, is idolized by the majority of them. Finnick sometimes thinks that they know more about her than the Victors do. Then again, the Victors have never really given Sil the time of day. They are all loosely connected with her because of their similar status, but for some reason she has never truly reached out to them. It is almost as if she tries to put up a wall between herself and the rest of them. Like she doesn’t want anything to do with them. It is precisely this attitude that makes them all annoyed whenever she is around.

“My love, please, no more!” they vaguely hear her laugh, and Johanna rolls her eyes.

“If I hear her say ‘darling’ or ‘my love’ one more time I’ll gut her,” she mutters. They all hate it when she uses her little pet names on them. She seems to use them on everyone.  
Finnick chuckles and says lightly, “At least she doesn’t call you what she wants to call you.” The words tumble out of his mouth before he can even understand them, and they cause Johanna to turn to him in confusion.

“What do you mean? What does she want to call me?” she asks dangerously, and Finnick raises an eyebrow.

“I just don’t think she’s nearly as happy to be here as she lets on, that’s all,” he says dismissively, not wanting to get into an argument with his friend – or to think in too much detail about the inner workings of Sil’s strange mind. He isn’t entirely sure why he thinks this or where it came from. Maybe it’s because the smile she wears is the same one he wears when he’s forced to frequent hotel rooms. Maybe because her eyes are set in the same hardness that his are whenever he has to deal with Snow. He isn’t sure, only that he’s always thought there is something else to Silver Lamprey Cornelius than meets the eyes. Something she keeps secret. Well…Finnick likes secrets. He’s good at fishing them out. And this one, whatever it is, has always been of interest to him.

Cashmere chortles at Finnick’s words and tells him, “You’re wrong. She’s just a stupid, brainless little girl who likes to pretend she’s got a life. But none of us have a life after the Games. She’s a walking, breathing lie.”

That may be so, but Finnick isn’t so sure. He doesn’t respond. All he does is watch Sil from the corner of his eye and wonder at the way she can so easily laugh and smile at all those Capitol citizens disguised as monsters.

* * *

 

After the party, Sil returns to her Capitol apartment feeling much more exhausted than she looks. That tiredness is also swept away beneath her mask. She does not show it outwardly, just as she does not show her intelligence or her determination or her hatred for Snow. She has gotten quite good at pretending to be infinitely tireless and happy. Sometimes she even convinces herself. But here in her apartment, where everything began, she cannot hope to pretend.

Tommy has informed her of the safe rescue of Mr. and Mrs. Helloise, who now go by a different name in District 13. He described the escape quickly while they were at the party, using the loud music to cover up their discussion. She is relieved that they were able to get yet another family out of the Capitol before Snow could track them down and dispose of them. Really, there are never that many who need rescuing, only the ones who are outspoken against Snow. His dominion does not allow those types of people to remain in his city, and that is another reason why Silver is his socialite extraordinaire. She hunts them down for him and has them arrested – but what he doesn’t realize is that she also has a hand in their rescue.

Sil shuts the door, flicks on the lights, and steps out of her heels. They are kicked away and replaced with the silk slippers she keeps by the door. The moment her feet are enveloped in that silk, she sighs out and curses those heels. Her feet are aching something awful, but it’s the trend in the Capitol and she’s _Silver Lamprey Cornelius,_ and she has to follow the trends. It’s just another part of her mask.

Another twist of her fingers and her hair is tumbling down from its updo. The shockingly blonde color gleams in the dim light, the only loudness in her apartment. She steps out of her dress right there in the entryway and kicks that to the side to join her heels. Then, bare but for her underwear, she steps into the darkness of her living room, flicking on lights as she goes. A moment later, she’s wrapping herself up in a silk robe. She stands there in the center of her apartment as she ties it, slowly and blankly looking around at the exquisite layout that is afforded to her. The Capitol socialite from District 1.

Sweeping marble countertops line the kitchen. Cherry wood cabinets and copper pots shine at her from where they hang above the stovetop. A bottle of wine idly waits on the side table, where two tall glasses always linger, for guests. Funny, that. She’s never had a guest before, but she still sets them out as if someone is about to walk through her door and greet her. It’s funny because she’s never had a friend before, either.

Being social and attending parties doesn’t mean that she enjoys spending time with Capitol folk. It certainly doesn’t mean that she has made any true friends here in the Capitol. After her Games, she had hoped that perhaps the other Victors might take her under their wing and look out for her…but, well, that was before Snow had swept in and told her what he wanted from her.

She’d hardly been a Victor three months before he appeared one day on the other side of her door. She’d been eager to meet him personally. He came right in and smiled genially and accepted the glass of wine she had offered him. It had been right here, in this spot, where he’d informed her that she was to be his Socialite. His eternal Sponsor. His personal Victor lapdog.

He told her he would rise her up from the ashes and introduce her to the Capitol via parties. She’d been excited, at first, because she’d wanted to please him. District 1 has always been loyal to the Capitol and she was no exception. She’d even enjoyed herself, at first. But when the other Victors made it clear that they didn’t like the way she acted so friendly around Capitol enthusiasts, it started going downhill. And that had been when Snow gave her the next orders. Always more.

It is so exhausting going to all those parties, having to look her best and being expected to gossip while rooting out the very rebels she fits in with best. Sil sighs, turns to the living room, and drops into the white leather couch splayed near the television. She’d like to be home in District 1 with her father, but alas, Snow expects her to remain in the Capitol for at least another two months. Two months of endless parties and socializing and name-gathering. Two months of a very peculiar kind of hell that is hers alone.

She knows she could have it worse. She isn’t blind, of course, to what some of the other Victors have dealt with – and still deal with. Finnick Odair, for example. She is thankful, at least, that Snow hadn’t thought she had potential to have that kind of life, at least not to the same level as Finnick. Most every female Victor does some sort of courtesan work and she is no exception, but she is lucky because she doesn’t often have to deal with this less pleasant part of her life.

She raises her arms above her head and buries her face into the crook of her elbow, sighing out against her skin. Blindly, she gropes for the remote control and turns the TV on. She ends up falling asleep to the sound of Caesar Flickerman’s voice as he rambles on and on about post-Games drama and the renovations in the President’s mansion. It is just boring enough to sweep her right off, and hopefully loud enough to keep the nightmares at bay.

But they come anyway, featuring herself as the main character and showing her all the awful things she’s been forced to do, and sleep doesn’t come easily.

* * *

District 13 is as different from the Capitol as the moon is from the sun. As the moon triumphs over the night sky, silent and hidden from its counterpart, District 13 carries on with a secrecy that is quite similar. It just so happens that tonight, of all nights, secrets are the exact topic being exchanged around one of the unassuming dining tables in the District 13 cafeteria. One secret, in particular, holds much sway on the conversation, and that secret is one that the entire country has been trying to unearth for many long years. The secret is, of course, concerning a figure masked in mystery and hidden in the unique shadows that anonymity affords – a dilemma that is most assuredly done deliberately, for how else could the Sterling Nightingale operate in the vast net of the Capitol?

“I hear he’s got a hundred faces,” one woman claims. A refugee, just come from the hands of the Nightingale herself, and rescued from the inner bowels of the Capitol prisons that very morning.

The man sitting across from her eyes her dubiously and asks in a gruff tone, “Well don’t you know? Didn’t you see his face?”

But the woman empathetically shakes her head and responds, “Hardly! That is, is saw the face of a regular Capitol worker – several, in fact – but no sign of the Nightingale. Not that I’m aware of, anyway.”  
The table quiets at this, all wondering at her words.

“The Nightingale’s been working with President Coin for years now,” one of them says. “I wouldn’t be surprised if  _she_  knew his identity.”

It’s true. President Coin has been in contact with the daring spy for many years, or so they say. Besides ferreting prisoners out of the Capitol before their sentences can even be announced, the spy is also District 13’s main source of intel concerning the comings and goings in Panem. Even these lowly workers know as much.

“Not much good it does us,” one of them responds, “since the President ain’t about to grace us with a name to go along with the man.”

The grumbling agreement that ensues makes the woman adamantly say, “Does it matter? As long as he can do his work, we don’t need to know who the Nightingale is. He’s gotten so many people out of the Capitol already, right under the nose of President Snow!”

No one would ever dispute the good that the Nightingale has done, of course. At least no one in District 13. The roguish spy has the audacity and the cunning of a dozen men. He’s saved more lives than anyone gives him credit for, and has kept District 13 in the know with his information. And so the others at the table do not disagree with the woman’s words, even though the mystery behind the unknown figure is a constant source of interest to them all.

But unbeknownst to the table, and the country at large, they have already gotten one thing immensely wrong where it concerns the identity of the man who wears the mask: the Sterling Nightingale is not a man at all.

How predictable the world is, when it stumbles across an anomaly. And yet – it is this predictability that the Sterling Nightingale counts on, for what else would allow the spy to hide in plain sight, at the center of the Capitol, under the nose of the very man who hunts her?

Gracious, but the world is full of imbeciles.

 


	2. Of love and hate -

**Chapter Two | Of love and hate -**

_“A surging, seething, murmuring crowd of beings that are human only in name, for to the eye and ear they seem naught but savage creatures, animated by vile passions and by the lust of vengeance and of hate.” Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

Hotel rooms are luxurious in the Capitol, especially the suites in The Plaza. Everyone who’s anyone has been to this massive enterprise. The gamblers and partiers of the Capitol frequent its lower floors with its loud music and casino-esque quality. The upper floors, however, are where the real fun is had.

“Oh darlings, don’t tease, but did you know that my fellow Victors are utter fops?” Sil’s voice laughingly trickles over the small group of very special, very rich Capitol guests. The invitations had been given to only a select few, at Snow’s discretion. After all, tonight Sil is not here to party and to socialize and to name-gather. Tonight, she is here to take it all one step further.

“Surely not!” someone gasps, and Sil leans forward to vigorously nod her head.

“They are all so very _boring,_ you know. That’s why I love spending time with you – because you all know how to _drink!”_

She breaks out into a loud laugh that is quickly and very easily joined in upon by the creatures around her. Glasses are raised. Drinks are tipped back. Sil pretends to swallow hers, but getting drunk is not on her agenda and never is. She hasn’t gotten drunk for years. She needs her full faculties to ensure that she doesn’t trip up in the grandiose act that she puts on, day after day. She teeters a little on her heels as if she really is drunk, or at least nearly so, but her mind is as sharp as it always is. Not that anyone notices, as usual.

“Come here, Sil dear, we’ve decided to play a new card game with Vada’s new deck,” someone calls her over, and Sil turns to see Opal Endover sitting demurely on the couch. Vada is sitting beside her, along with several men. One of these men Sil knows quite well, for in the past they have experienced slightly more…intimate relations, at Snow’s bidding of course.

His name is Felix, and he covets her like no one else. So much so that when he sees her approach, he pats the space beside him with a seemingly charming smile, and Sil has no choice but to flop down next to him. She keeps as much space as she can between them, not that it does very much good.

With a flick of her wrist, Sil’s lacey silk fan flies open and she flutters it near her face. They’re all the rage, these silky confections.

“Oh I would absolutely love to play, darlings. You know how I adore card games,” Sil says with a giggle, and watches as the cards are shuffled. Her mind has begun to whiz into a plan that is perfected by the time the cards are drawn and distributed.

“Shall we make a gamble?” Sil suggests, watching Felix out of the corner of his eye as he lifts his cards up and studies them. His eyes are bright. He has a good hand. Capitol folk are so very easy to read, really. She smiles demurely and purrs, “The winner gets the opportunity to spend the night with Finnick Odair, hmm?”

Vada and Opal gape at her in shock and eager disbelief. “Finnick Odair?! The most drop dead gorgeous man in Panem? A _night_ with him?” Sil smiles prettily and shrugs, as if gambling someone else’s life away is something she does every day.

“He’s my friend, you know, and the poor thing is very lonely,” she says breezily, as if she is talking about a dog that she had to leave at home alone for a few hours. Finnick is not her friend and probably never will be, but they are both Victors, and that has to count for something, right?

“But I’m sure one of you would make his night very enjoyable,” she adds with a winning smile, and they eagerly nod in agreement. Sil purses her lips for a brief second before chuckling and leaning forward. She reaches for her clutch and pulls out a crisp bill, then turns to Felix with a twinkling smile that she literally has to force onto her face.

Felix is a very high ranking general in the Peacekeeper Corps. He’s also Snow’s lapdog and does all his dirty work for him. On top of that, Felix happens to consider Sil an easy target and often pays for her ‘services’. Sometimes he doesn’t even pay at all – it depends on whether he’s feeling generous really. He considers himself Snow’s most trusted man, and that surely gives him plenty of power to do anything he wishes, at least to him. Snow has never appeared to have an issue with Felix’s manipulation over Sil, and that gives Felix all the power he needs.

“Felix, my love, how about we make a bet? You see, I believe that Vada has the greater chance at winning – oh, no harm meant, Opal dear, it’s just that you don’t play quite as often.” She smiles at Felix, who smiles slowly back. It is a forced smile, but only Felix seems to notice. To everyone else, Sil appears just as happy-go-lucky as usual.

After a moment, Felix sighs and pulls out his wallet, lifting up a bill and laying it on top of hers. As he leans in to do this, he murmurs in her ear, “If I win, you’re mine tonight. You can keep the money.” The words make her heart stand still. She is not expecting them.

But even though she wants to shove him off the couch and show him that she belongs to no one, Sil merely laughs flirtatiously and sends him a sharp, quick look that burns with the challenge.

“If you win,” she tells him with a wink, and he smiles indulgently at her before leaning back. He obviously thinks that he will win. Well he’s got something coming, because Sil never truly loses when it comes to these little games of hers.

“Are we finished with our gambling?” Opal giggles, teetering drunkenly on the edge of her seat. The game begins, cards are discarded and new ones are laid out. Felix does have a good hand. He doesn’t even try to hide his fortune. It is his mistake, really. Sil never loses, even when others win.

Her talents lie in a very peculiar method of manipulation, in which these people don’t even realize that they are being played. But they are, and as the card game develops, Sil deftly shifts the odds into Vada’s direction, stealing away Felix’s happy gain and giving it to the Capitol woman. Sil herself will lose, but so will Felix and so will Opal. Vada will win the night with Finnick just as Sil plans, because Vada is sweet and softer than the others, and she at least won’t hurt the Victor by being crass.

It’s all Sil can do with the given circumstances. The people invited here today were handpicked from her lists by Snow’s secretary. They are the people that Sil must now line up. It is the manner in which Snow manipulates her. She has to find willing, and wealthy, Capitol women for Finnick Odair. It is part of the reason she socializes as much as she does. The other reason is to help Snow weed out any Capitol citizen who is not totally loyal to him.

Even though she doesn’t know Finnick Odair very well, she sometimes thinks that this is the worst thing she has to do for Snow. In a way, she has more of a hand in his torment than even the President. She isn’t the one who lines up his entire schedule, of course. People who want him will pay for him on their own time, without Sil’s intervention. But – when it comes to convincing the very wealthy population of the Capitol to use Finnick in whatever way they see fit, Snow pushes it all on Sil. It makes her feel sick and disgusting, but it helps that she can’t claim friendship with the man. Doing this part of her job would be so much worse if that was the case.

Vada wins, of course. She jumps out of her seat with a shrill scream that makes Sil cringe. Vada hardly notices. She’s far too excited about getting to spend a night with the Capitol Daydream to realize how loud she’s being. It hardly matters, really, because the music is loud enough to drown her voice out, though it still annoys Sil like nothing else. What’s so great about getting to be with a Victor? She’ll never understand it. Victor are, essentially, only murderers and killers forced to survive. They are the haunted ones who never sleep, who ghost the Capitol like headless brainless bodies manipulated by Snow. They are like marionettes drifting across a stage. She knows, because she is one of them.

She so caught up in her thoughts that Sil hardly realizes how tense Felix is at her side. He looks furious for some reason. Sil glances at him briefly before turning to Vada and digging around in her clutch.

“Vada, darling, do make sure you mail this in by tomorrow. Finnick’s schedule tends to fill up fast you know, he’s just so busy all the time with his interviews and photoshoots and such.” She makes no mention of the fact that he is in fact very busy with other women. Very few Capitol citizens know the extent of what he is forced to do, or how many times he’s forced to do it in one night.

She hands Vada a white, crisp card with filigree silver swirls around the lacy edges. It is her personal stationary. She gives it out to everyone she collects for Finnick. It’s part of the process that she’s perfected over the years of her forced socializing and name-gathering. She watches Vada clutch it to her chest and push Opal away when the other woman leans in for a better look. But that’s about as much of the scene as Sil is allowed to witness, because that’s when Felix stands up and hauls her along with him, dragging her rather rudely across the suite.

“Felix, what in Panem are you doing?” she demands, trying to pull her arm out of his grip. But he just growls scarily and shoves her outside into the hall, which looms up in desertion on every side. Except, of course, the side where Felix slams the door shut and then shoves her up against the wall.

“You played me,” he hisses in her ear, hands already roving all over her flawless gown. She swallows back a harsh wave of fear and tries to push him away, but he seems to enjoy her struggles. He’s sick, she thinks. Sick and disgusting and about to do things to her that she will not be able to stop, because she’s not supposed to be able to. She hates having to pretend to be weak and never being allowed to show her strength for even a second.

His mouth burns against her neck. She shuts her eyes tightly and says, “I did not. Now let go of me you bastard – “

“Bastard?” he raises his voice, throwing her hard against the wall. His hands are quickly lifting up her skirt. He seems to like the sight of her grimaces as he roughly caresses her legs. With a glowering scowl, Felix tells her wickedly, “I’ll show you just how much of a bastard I am, you little socialite slut.”

She’s about to resign herself to her fate, about to shut her emotions off as she always does in the rare occasion when Snow sells her. But before she even has the chance, a voice suddenly cuts in and strongly says, “Actually, you won’t be proving anything tonight.”

Both Felix and Sil gasp and turn, staring in shock at a figure of a man who had not been there before. It is Finnick Odair, and he looks surprisingly furious.

Felix growls and narrows his eyes at Finnick, refusing to take his hands off Sil. She doesn’t seem to even notice. She’s too busy staring at Finnick with wide, surprised eyes. She can guess why he is here, in this hotel, but she cannot guess why he would step in and stop what is going on. She’s never gotten to know many of the other Victors, and Finnick has always intimidated her a little bit. She knows they don’t like her very much. Any of the others would probably just let it happen and not bat an eye. So why is Finnick sticking his neck out for her? She doesn’t deserve it – not from him. Not when she is responsible for picking his clients…though he isn’t aware of that, of course.

“Oh? I didn’t realize you had friends, Sil,” Felix chortles harshly, and she tries very hard not to flinch at that. Her face glazes over and she stares at the opposite wall with a blank expression, not letting his words hurt her. She has been hurt too many times by him. Felix breathes out and presses his mouth to her cheek, whispering lowly, “How about we go find a nice room for the night, and I won’t get angry at you for controlling the game.”

Her eyes harden. Apparently, she hadn’t been acting very shallow today, if he saw through her mask so easily. But Felix knows her fairly well by now. He knows how to read her.

Finnick steps forward threateningly and says, “Get your hands off her or I’ll break your jaw.”

Sil glances at him, still taken aback at his sudden appearance. What surprises her even more is the fact that he actually seems genuinely angry… _for her._ She’s never had anyone get angry on her behalf. It’s a strange feeling, this protection.

Felix growls and whirls on him, a deadly look glinting in his eye. It easily rivals the look Finnick has on his own face. It’s the sort of expression that is clearly saying ‘back off and I won’t kill you’. Seeing it on Finnick is so odd, especially when Sil is used to seeing only his suave charm and flirty expression.

“Listen – “ Felix starts to say, no doubt about to threaten him. But Finnick is not the type of man who accepts threats, especially not from idiotic Capitol fops like Felix. Finnick is a Victor who has killed. Felix is nothing more than a spoiled rich Capitol brat who lives and breathes his father’s money. Without it, he would be nothing.

“No, you listen to me,” Finnick cuts in, grasping two fistfuls of Felix’s expensive dress shirt and shoving him into the wall. Sil stares, looking blank and unwavering as she watches the disagreement. It almost feels like she’s watching it from above, as if she’s a ghost who has left her own body and is quietly observing the proceedings somewhere miles away.

Finnick scowls and leans in, roughly claiming, “That woman may not be the smartest Victor out there, but any man who would take advantage of a drunk girl deserves death. Do you hear me? Now get out of here.” He pushes Felix to the side as easily as if he is pushing a sack of potatoes off a shelf. Felix tumbles, barely managing to catch himself. He turns to glare once at Sil before he stumbles away, leaving Finnick and her alone. In a deserted hallway in The Plaza. In dead silence.

Sil doesn’t move. She just stares at Finnick for a long moment, and he stares back at her, and then she blurts out in what she hopes is a good imitation of her Capitol voice, “I’ll have you know that I’m very smart, especially concerning card games.”

Apparently her imitation is good, because Finnick rolls his eyes like he can’t believe she would say that in this situation, right after she was nearly raped.

“Are you okay?” he asks her, running a hand through his already mussed up hair. The bronze waves get messier than they already are, and Sil stares at them for a moment before slowly nodding.

Something is wrong with her tonight. It’s obvious to Finnick, and to her as well, but for some reason she can’t really bring herself to both look and sound the part of Silver Lamprey Cornelius, shallow brainless idiot from District 1. Is it perhaps because she wants Finnick to know the real her? She’s not entirely sure why, only she knows it probably has something to do with the fact that no one has ever stood up for her before, and she feels like she owes him something.

Sil laughs, but it sounds as hollow as she feels. “Certainly, my love!” she tells him, though he doesn’t look convinced. Suddenly the lights are too bright, and her dress is too constricting, and the music from inside the party is loud even in the quiet stillness of the hall. Much too loud. She sways, thinking that she might just fall flat on her face right in front of Finnick Odair – and just kill her now because how embarrassing would _that be –_

Except she doesn’t fall on her face, at least not on the floor. Instead she just falls into Finnick’s chest, because the moment he sees her sway he rushes over to catch her like a true gentleman.  
He shakes his head and mutters, “No you’re not. You’re practically burning up.”

He trails off, brushing his hand over her forehead. She closes her eyes and leans against him, feeling very fatigued and extremely sick. Slowly she inhales the scent of his cologne. He smells like the ocean. He also smells like sex, but she doesn’t say anything about that. It’s about all she can do to just stand there and grapple with her consciousness. She feels like she might faint and wonders how many drinks she’s actually had – surely not _that_ many.

Finnick, it seems, it wondering the same thing. “You must be drunk out of your mind…” he mumbles to himself, obviously assuming that she is too far gone to hear him. In a quieter, angrier voice, he mutters through his teeth, “And that bastard was trying to get under your skirt…”

“I’m not drunk,” she mumbles into his shirt. He stiffens, surprised that she’s still conscious, and stares down at her. She peers back up at him from the creases of his wrinkled clothes and smiles stupidly, “…But I think I might’ve been drugged.” There is no flamboyant speech added into her words, no lilting District 1 accent. For once it is just her, just Sil, just a woman that Finnick has never known. He stares down at her and frowns.

“…Why would anyone want to drug you?” he slowly asks, not knowing if he really wants to know the answer. Sil gives him a wry smile. Darkness is clutching at the edges of her vision. She feels her body go numb and Finnick bundles her up to his chest to make sure she doesn’t fall. It’s quite comfortable, and very warm.

“Mmm…” she mumbles, and almost incoherently tells him, “Darrrrling…I’m Silver Lamprey _Cornelius._ Do you knowww how expensive I am…?” And that’s when her head drops down against his chest and she goes completely limp.

Finnick catches her weight, staring hard at her face as it tilts back. She is a flawless and impeccable as always. Would someone really want to drug her? And just how much money _does_ it cost to have the Capitol’s socialite for one night? He hadn’t thought that she ever had to deal with being sold like that. He hadn’t realized until now just how much he doesn’t know about Silver Lamprey Cornelius.  
Finnick loves secrets, and he’s got this feeling that her secrets will be some of the most fascinating ones he’s ever heard. When he finds them out, of course, which he will. He will.

 

 

Sil wakes up to the intensity of a throbbing, relentless headache. She is surrounded by warmth, tucked in all around her like a cloud of weightless heat. She lays there for several long minutes without opening her eyes, but finally her headache is too much for her to handle and she raises two slender fingers up to rub her temples. It doesn’t do much good. That’s about when she remembers the party from the night before and she tears her eyes open and sits up with a jolt.

“Woah there, sugar,” a low, amused voice suddenly says to her right, and Sil’s eyes jerk in its direction. She stares.

Finnick Odair is sitting in her apartment. Finnick Odair is sitting in her –

“What the hell are you doing in my bedroom, Finnick?” she demands, and she must look as ridiculous as she sounds, because Finnick immediately bursts out into hysterical laughter.

He leans forward and wipes a tear from his eye dramatically. Gesturing to the room, Finnick laughingly tells her, “As much as I’d love to be in your bedroom, darling, this is actually _my_ apartment.” That shuts her up.

She finally allows herself to look around, eyes wide as she takes in her surroundings. He’s right. This is not her airy, pastel colored bedroom. The sheets she’s laying in are not silk and definitely not hers. She’s in a soft creamy room with green sheets, not white, and the walls converge in an entirely different layout. How had she managed to miss such an obvious fact? Perhaps this error is something that the fop she pretends to be might make, so it could work in her favor.

She swings her head back around to stare at him again. This goes on for several long moments, in which she struggles to lock her more rational side away and truly embrace the idiot she pretends to be. All the while he watches her curiously, wondering what she’s doing and why she’s just staring at him.

Then Sil lies back down with a dreary sigh and says, “I suppose you brought me here after last night. Finnick, my love, be a dear and bring me some pills. My head is absolutely _throbbing.”_ And she buries her head back into his pillows and ignores him.

He stares, raises an eyebrow, and sends her a grin that she doesn’t see. “I suppose it would if you really were drugged like you claim. Tell me how that happened and I’ll get you some pills.” He speaks in this suave, soft voice that almost sounds like a bedroom voice. It is because he has a woman in his bed and he just naturally reverts to it? Or is it because he wants something from her – to learn her secrets perhaps? She isn’t stupid enough to think that it’s the former, so it must be the latter. It makes the most sense. Finnick does so love learning secrets.

She moans and cuddles into the mattress, which feels like a cloud. Why does her bed never feel this good? The scent of him is everywhere. Ocean and musky sandy cologne that makes her feel really quite good.

“Did I say I was drugged?” Sil asks, and laughs it off, “I must have been well and truly drunk. Can’t hold my liquor at all, you know.”

Finnick, observant as he is, doesn’t appear to believe her. He hums indulgently and sweeps a hand lazily through his hair. “I’m very good at picking apart lies, Sil, so tell me why you were drugged.” The bedroom voice has hardened. He clearly won’t put up with any stories today. Sil frowns into the pillow and exhales loudly, like a child who hasn’t gotten her way. The analogy rather humors Finnick, who stares at her form in amusement.

Instead of answering him, though, Sil just grumbles and sits up, squinting through her headache as she throws her legs over the side of his bed. He immediately stands up, crosses his arms, and asks, “What are you doing?”

She doesn’t like him and his observant, knowing eyes. Rolling her eyes, Sil drawls, “I need to use your bathroom, darling. And after that I suppose I’ll have to borrow some clothes. I can’t walk around the Capitol dressed in this, now can I?” As she stands up, she exclaims, “What would people say? I have quite a lofty reputation, you know my love, and I can’t be seen in a wrinkled day-old dress!”

She stumbles to the bathroom that is connected to Finnick’s bedroom and muses, “Unless of course I want to start a grunge fashion look. I’m sure people would follow any trend I set – perhaps something ripped at the sides or – “

She doesn’t get to finish her hastily crafted speech. Finnick’s hand encloses around her elbow and suddenly he’s pushing her into the wall. It occurs to her that this is the second time in 24 hours that she’s been manhandled, but the thought is quick to slip away because when she looks up, Finnick’s face is inches from hers. His eyes are a shining bluish green, the color of a sunlit ocean. Sil stares into them in shock. She’s never seen a color so beautiful before and is surprised that she’s never noticed those eyes of his. She’s never taken the time to notice, really.

“Dear me, I suppose men do enjoy shoving me into dark corners, don’t they?” Sil wonders lowly, trying not to sound shrill or annoyed. She feels ragged, like the wrinkles of her crushed dress.  
Finnick narrows his eyes at her and leans in. She starts to understand why women always fall all over him. From this angle he really is the most beautiful man she’s ever seen. He is so close that if she tilts her head, their lips would meet.

“I’m not letting you leave until you tell me why you were drugged,” he tells her slowly, his voice a thrum of low power that makes shivers erupt all over her body. Definitely not because she’s attracted to him. This is Finnick Odair for goodness sake – he’s been with half the Capitol and besides, she’s got no right to find him attractive anyhow. Not after she’s the one who got half the Capitol interested in the first place.

She frowns at him, eyes sharp. Lucky for her, she isn’t the type to fall head over heels dramatically. Perhaps her idiot alter ego might, but the real Sil doesn’t easily give her heart – or her attention – away. She leans forward, their lips almost brushing, and Finnick’s eyes travel down to her mouth like he’s curious. There’s no real desire in his eyes, only confusion, because her sultry body language and the hard steel of her eyes don’t mix.

“Why do you care so much?” she demands, and suddenly the shards of her anger transform her into a woman Finnick does not know. She is sharp, she is all edges, she is not stupid. The image shivers and falters, and Finnick is pushed away before he can really understand what just happened.

She uses the newfound space that her shove provides to dart into the bathroom and locked the door behind her. Finnick is immediately banging on it, his muffled voice yelling, “Open the door Sil! We have to talk about this!”

She growls and ignores him, turning to the mirror. Sil’s reflection stares back at her. Her hair is an utter mess. Her shimmery make-up is smudged over her eyelids. She’s pale and has shadows under her eyes – definitely not the impression she’d like to make on the star of the Capitol. But why does she care so much?

“Stupid,” she mutters at her reflection. She turns on the water and splashes her face, runs her fingers over her hair, and sniffs at her clothes. Stale alcohol. Delightful.

Her mind whirls with thought. What should she say to Finnick when she opens the door? What persona should she put on? Eventually she just decides to wing it since all her plans seem to be meaningless wherever Finnick Odair is concerned.

With a sigh, she throws the door open just as he’s raising his hand to knock again. They stare at each other for a split second before she raises an eyebrow and sidesteps him, ducking back into his bedroom and immediately going to his closet. A very confused Finnick watches as she riffles through his clothing, plucking shirts off the rack and examining them.

“Should I be asking what you’re doing, or are you going to grace me with an explanation?” he dryly questions her, and Sil huffs.

“I told you darling, I can’t go out like this. People saw me last night – they would spread awful scandalous rumors about me if they saw me in last night’s clothes.” It isn’t far from the truth, though mainly she just wants to get the smell of alcohol, and Felix, off of her. Preferably as quickly as possible.

She pauses, glances at him thoughtfully, and then starts to shrug out of her gown. Finnick leans against the wall and crosses his arms, politely turning his eyes to the window as she steps into a pair of his trousers and starts buttoning up a blue shirt that is several sizes too big on her. He thinks it’s rather amusing, having none other than Silver Lamprey Cornelius fit herself into his clothes.

“Not that I’m complaining,” Finnick says cheekily, “but I think you could do without the trousers. You in my shirt is about all I can take.” He quirks a grin and Sil tosses her hair behind her shoulder.

She doesn’t give him the reaction he is looking for, or even expecting. All she does is look down at her borrowed outfit, _tsk,_ and sigh, “Mmm, perhaps you’re right. Do you think anyone would notice if I don’t wear pants?” She says it so seriously that Finnick bursts into laughter.

She smiles too and shucks off the trousers, which frankly make her look ridiculous. Then she turns to riffle through his closet again, and Finnick cautiously turns his eyes to her.

He’s seen naked women. He’s even seen naked men a few times more than he’d care to remember. He knows the female body intimately. He’s seen dozens, hundreds maybe, of women without their clothes. But none of them have ever looked quite as good as the one standing in front of him wearing only his shirt and nothing else. It’s really a shame that her body is all Sil has going for her.

“Finnick, darling, aren’t you going to cook me breakfast before I leave?” she asks over her shoulder, sounding a little flippant about it. But he can see the uplifted way her cheeks smile, pressing down in a failed attempt to keep that smile at bay. He smirks and turns his eyes back to the ceiling before she can catch him staring at her legs.

“That depends,” he tells her. She sighs.

“On whether I tell you why I think I was drugged?” she wonders, ever straight forward. He nods. She doesn’t see his confirmation, but she gives him an answer anyway. It just isn’t the answer he expects. He’s beginning to think that none of what she says will be things he expects.

“You know what’s strange?” she asks him, pulling out a black trench coat and trying it on. As she ties it around her waist, she breezily muses, “I’ve been a Victor for seven whole years, and not once have I ever interfered with your life.” She ignores the whisper in her head that tells her what a filthy lie that is, and says in a low voice, “So I would dearly appreciate it, my love, if you don’t attempt to interfere with mine.”

He frowns and is about to speak when she pushes on, “I’ve allowed you all to keep your distance from me because I disgust you, don’t I? The way I actually enjoy spending time with the friends I’ve made in the Capitol. Well here’s a proposition for you, darling: let’s just keep our relationship the way it is. Casual.” She turns, winks at him with a wry smile, and slips into her heels. Then she pops the collar of the trench coat and saunters right out of the room before Finnick even understands what has just happened.

By the time he does understand and rushes after her, Sil is already twisting the doorknob of his apartment and waving him goodbye. Before the tails of the trench coat swing away, she calls, “I’ll have your lovely coat mailed back by tomorrow morning, Finnick darling!” And then she’s gone, and Finnick just stands there staring at the door, totally confused at how she could just twist every conversation whichever way she wants – and succeed.

Well there’s at least one thing he’s gotten out of this chance meeting, and that is the fact that there’s definitely more to Silver Lamprey Cornelius than he’d thought. Especially when, the next morning, his coat and shirt are waiting for him in the lobby of the apartment complex with a little note stuffed into the pocket.

_You have divine taste in fashion, darling. I almost didn’t send it back. XO - SLC_

And, looking through the clothes, Finnick finds that they are dry cleaned, pressed, and ironed as if Sil had never touched them to begin with.


	3. The vast array of stars laid out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who reviewed so far! This chapter will introduce the main plot of the story (besides the obvious Scarlet Pimpernel theme) and will feature more of Finnick. Let me know what you think!

**Chapter Three | The vast array of stars laid out**

 

_“And she glided through republican, revolutionary, bloodthirsty Paris like a shining comet with a trail behind her of all that was most distinguished, most interesting, in intellectual Europe.”  Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

 

* * *

 

Everything certainly appears to return to normal after the fiasco at Finnick’s apartment.  Sil does her best to remove all traces of their encounter from her life.  She throws away her gown and sends his clothes back as soon as she can.  She goes to another party, gathers names of interested potential clients, and pushes Finnick Odair back onto his untouchable pedestal.  But it doesn’t last, because there is one problem: somebody saw Sil leaving Finnick’s apartment that morning. 

She sees the article as she’s brushing her teeth the next day.  She’s dressed in her silk robe and slippers, hair tousled from sleep but eyes chirpy.  She adores mornings, and she’s humming as she shifts about the bathroom, toothbrush in one hand and her tablet PAAD in the other.  The small computer is opened to the local news station as she searches for potential gossip to twist into new, amusing tales for her parties.  It’s a morning routine that she could certainly live without, but her Capital loves rely on her for her gossip.  And when they rely on her for something, it is so much easier to manipulate them.

Her finger moves over the screen, shifting down to read the text.  Her eyes are moving so fast over it that she hardly even notices the bold news title that waits on the side of the page.  She is drawn to it after she is done reading an article about the outer district food sources.  It’s bored her to death, but when she sees the title of the newly posted article about her and Finnick Odair, her heart starts beating a million miles a minute.

**“Naughty New Relationship Between Victors Odair and Cornelius? page 4”**

“Well!” Sil exclaims, reading the title several times before flipping down the page to find where it’s been posted.  She finds it alright, in the dead center of the page because apparently it’s exciting enough to broadcast. 

 _“‘Socialite Silver L. Cornelius does love her drama, but the sight of her quietly leaving Finnick Odair’s apartment early Tuesday morning has taken it to a whole new level  – ‘”_ Sil reads, and exclaims to herself, “I do _not love_ drama!  And I did not _quietly leave_ his apartment!”  She’s got nothing to hide!  Nothing!  She scans the article and her scowl deepens with each fabricated, lie-infested sentence. 

_“‘Did she finally join the bandwagon and fall for the charming Capitol Daydream, or was it her own social graces that won Odair to her side?  If these two do end up together, they will surely make waves here in the Capitol as being the most powerful couple after our Star-Crossed Lovers – ”_

“What slander!” Sil loudly complains, tossing her tablet onto a nearby towel and throwing her toothbrush into the sink.  She stomps out of the bathroom and paces angrily around her apartment.  This is too much.  Finnick Odair is too much.  Her double life is too much.  What will District 13 and Coin say when they hear that she’s apparently fallen head over heels for a fellow Victor – and a Career at that.  As far as she knows, Finnick is loyal to the Capitol – or at least as loyal as a Victor could be.  Will they assume that she is becoming loyal as well? 

She growls and grabs her phone off its place on the kitchen counter, scrolls down the list of names she’s programmed into it, and hits dial when she finds Finnick’s number.  It rings three times before he answers it with a drawled, “Hello, Sil.  Read the news, have you?”

She glares.  How can he be so _blasé_ about this?  It isn’t okay and he’s ruining all her carefully created plans without even realizing it.  A relationship with him, however fake, only makes it that much harder for her to do her job. 

“Yes.  I have,” she says in a clipped voice.  “And I’ll have you know that I don’t like it.  So you must call the news station and tell them you’re not in love with me and it was someone else.”

He chuckles and she scowls at the sound of it.  “Silver,” he says, sounding patronizing, “If I call the news station, they’ll automatically assume that we’re trying to hide our supposed relationship.  And for the record, I’m not exactly happy about these rumors myself.  You really aren’t my type, no offense.”

“I’m everybody’s type, darling,” she immediately counters, and it’s true.  She changes personalities like she changes clothes.  Which is a _lot_.  “And no they won’t, they’d only think that if _I_ called them – and that is precisely why _you_ must call and put a stop to all these dreadful rumors.”

She can practically hear him rolling his eyes, and when Finnick speaks next his voice is dry and sarcastic.  “For someone who deals with gossip on a daily basis, you should know better than anyone that all we need to do is let it pass.  They’ll move on to more interesting things in a week or two and forget about us.”  He sounds resigned and she doesn’t like it.

“I don’t think they will, actually,” Sil shoots back with a frown.  “We’re the two most well known Victors currently in the Capitol, Finnick.  What’s more interesting than us getting together?”  She pauses, scowls, and adds hastily, “To them, at least.  I find the idea terribly boring, myself.”

He laughs and mutters, “You must be the only woman who _doesn’t_ want me.”  Then he says, “Look, I have a photo shoot in an hour and I have to get ready for it.  How about we meet for coffee this afternoon?”

Her eyes widen in shock and annoyance, “Finnick, meeting in public would only make things worse – “

“Great!” Finnick cuts in, “Lola’s Café, at noon?  See you there.”  And he hangs up.

He hangs up on _Silver Lamprey Cornelius_. 

Outraged, she throws the phone back into its cradle and yells at the ceiling like a little girl throwing a tantrum.  She can normally deal with things like this.  But she’s starting to think that dealing with someone like Finnick Odair might mean following a whole different set of rules, of which she is completely and utterly unprepared for.

  

* * *

 

Lola’s Café is packed at noon, despite it being a three star restaurant with dismal lighting.  Sil stalks the sidewalk on the other side of the street, dressed like she’s about to rob a bank so as not to draw attention to herself.  Of course only Sil would wear black stilettos, a wide-brimmed hat, and huge black sunglasses if she were to actually rob a bank.  Luckily she’s never been interested in _that_ sort of deception.

Finnick is nowhere in sight, of course, and even though she’s trying very hard at remaining undetected, she’s a very famous Victor.  People look at her as they walk by, and after a while they start to notice who she is even though half her face is hidden.  It’s very trying, being famous.  

Ten minutes of waiting on the sidewalk makes her restlessly pace back and forth, no doubt drawing even more attention to herself than she normally would.  She’s angry that Finnick is late, upset that she’s being whispered about and pointed at, and furious that Finnick had the gall to invite her to tea instead of just phoning her.  And that’s why she ends up digging out her cell phone and dialing his number after only twelve minutes of loitering rather inconspicuously.

He doesn’t pick up.  She glares at the phone and waits for the beep so that she can leave him a message.  When she hears it, Sil angrily hisses, “Finnick Odair, how dare you leave me waiting on the side of the road for you – you abhorrent… _dog!_   Do you even know how _precious_ my time is - ?”

“I hope you’re not leaving me a nasty message, sugar,” Finnick’s voice suddenly drawls to her left, and Sil gasps and nearly drops her phone.  He catches it, of course, because he just has to be cool.  She glares at him, but it looks more like a pouty childish frown than anything else and he smirks.

“Don’t call me that,” she snaps at him.  People are staring at them and whispering, and Sil sighs.  She grabs his arm and drags him into an alley to avoid being seen.

The move only makes Finnick’s smirk widen as he drawls, “Oh?  Dark alleys?  Are you planning on seducing me over there in the shadows?”  She rolls her eyes and slides her sunglasses off her nose to see him better.

“Why would _I_ seduce _you?”_ she questions impatiently, and Finnick chuckles. 

In an airy voice he says, “True.  I would definitely be more likely to do the seducing, I suppose.”

She huffs.  He seems to enjoy spinning her in circles.  Well fine then, he can try all he likes, but the real her is always one step ahead.  If he hasn’t figured her out in these past seven years, there’s no way he’d even bother trying to now.  Her image in his mind is absolute.  It makes her somewhat relieved.

“Anyway,” Finnick says, sliding his hands casually into his pockets, “Sorry I’m late.  The photo shoot was extended.”  He looks a little harried, actually, now that Sil studies him.  She wonders vaguely what he means by that – if he means what she thinks he does – but decides not to comment.  She doesn’t want to talk about his Talent right now anyhow.

She waves his words away and peers over his shoulder at the café across the street.  It’s even busier than it had been before.  Finnick follows her gaze, apparently unconcerned.

“Look, my love,” Sil sighs, trying very hard not to sound impatient.  “I really can’t stay long you know, I have several meetings today that I simply cannot be late for.  This was clearly a bad idea – people have already noticed us – “

“Sil,” Finnick cuts in, raising an eyebrow in amusement, “it doesn’t matter if they’ve noticed us.  Hasn’t Snow told you?” 

Her eyes flicker to his.  She pauses, frowns, and slowly inquires, “What on earth do you mean?”

Both his eyebrows shoot up in surprise.  He stares down at her carefully, like he’s not sure if he should be amused or not.  What does Snow have to do with any of this?  He doesn’t contact her unless he wants something from her – and though she does have a meeting with him later today, he hasn’t said anything recently.  Perhaps what he wants to talk about is what Finnick is talking about now?

Finnick smirks humorlessly, his eyes darkening a little bit like he’s decided that he’s more annoyed than amused.  It’s an odd look for him, really.  He’s always smiling so charmingly that seeing anything else on his face is strange.

“I guess you haven’t been told that we’re dating,” he says breezily, but his face is still dark and it contradicts his eyes very much.  “What a nice surprise for you, hmm?  My girlfriend.  Don’t hear that a lot, do you?”  She doesn’t appear to notice his rambling.  The moment Sil hears the word ‘dating’, she freezes, staring up at him with wide, shocked eyes that quickly turn furious.

Dating?!  Since when?  How?  Why?  Snow has obviously ordered this.  What reason does he have?  Is it perhaps because of Sil’s connections, that he thinks more people will want to sign up for Finnick’s services?  It can’t be a punishment for _her_ …can it?

Her face turns stormy.  Suddenly she lurches away from him and cuts across the alley to the street.  Her high heels click loudly on the pavement and her anger almost seems to roll right off of her like waves.  Finnick is there at her side moments later, his long legs easily catching up to her hurried walk.  He looks about as pleased as she does…which isn’t a whole lot.

“Dating?” Sil laughs cuttingly and mutters, “As if I’d date _you_.  What could he be thinking?!  I will set this right, my dear, _immediately_.  You’ll _completely_ ruin my image and I can’t have that – “

“Don’t assume that yours is the only image it will ruin,” Finnick tells her darkly, raising his voice just a little over hers.  She glowers at him quickly and hurries her pace, but outrunning him is impossible.  So is out talking him. 

In an annoyed voice he says, “You were seen leaving my apartment.  In order to keep our reputations from going downhill, Snow wants us to date.  I’m surprised he hasn’t told you yet.”  He speaks as if it is all her fault, having to leave his apartment in the first place.  It doesn’t exactly lessen her anger.

“Ha!” she laughs bitingly, “He never tells me anything.  He just orders me to do this and go there and soc – “ she swallows the word before she can spit out the word ‘socialize’, hoping that Finnick doesn’t connect the breadcrumbs she’s so obviously leaving behind.  Her anger always makes her rusty.  She tries to reel it in and says in a more resigned voice, “I have a meeting with him this afternoon.  He was probably going to tell me then.”

Whether Finnick catches her little slip up or not, he doesn’t show it.  He just gives her a calculating look and slips his hand around her elbow to drag her back.  They stop there in the middle of the sidewalk that is converging with nameless Capitol citizens who stare at them as they pass, and Finnick sends her a genial smile that looks so very different from the dark expression he’d just been wearing.  It seems that Sil is not the only one who is good at wearing masks.

“Since we’re dating now,” he says and shrugs an arm around her shoulders just to rile her up, “How bout that coffee like we planned?”  The words are callous enough to make her frown up at him with those pouty lips.  He raises an eyebrow.

“Humph.  You were the one who planned it, darling, not me,” she articulates in her posh District 1 accent, but he’s already steering them toward a slightly less crowded coffee shop on the corner of the street.  She’s too tired to argue.  Being around him makes her exhausted.

“Technicalities,” he says and waves her words away.  And it’s as simple as that.  They go into the shop, slide into a little booth near the back, and people stare.  Once they’re seated, he hands her a little menu.  As he lets her decide what she wants, Finnick shrugs and muses, “Besides, I figured you’d be the kind of woman who’d want men to make decisions for you.” 

Her eyes slice up at him with surprising intensity.  It makes him do a bit of a double-take.  The ferocity of her expression hits him rather hard in the chest and he suddenly thinks that it’s lovely, how that fire burns her eyes like that.  Quite lovely and extremely shocking.  Sil Lamprey Cornelius is beautiful, of course, but Finnick has never considered her as anything other than a blonde idiot with nothing but air floating around in her head.  The fiery look she wears now certainly makes him wonder at that.  But suddenly the look vanishes, and Sil’s lips fold into a seamless smile that looks perfectly genuine.  Which of course makes him suspicious. 

“Oh I do, my love.  I find feminist women to be such _bores,”_ she hums at him, and turns her now-slate eyes back to the menu.  Then she snaps it shut and raises her hand demurely into the air.  Immediately, a waiter shows up to take their orders and she smoothly says, “Two coffees, if you please my dear – one double shot espresso, cream no sugar, and one long black, caramel with three teaspoons of sugar…and a side of your finest croissants.”  Then she primly hands the waiter the menu and winks at him, making him blush a vivid red before scurrying away.  Finnick just stares in amused surprise.

“Okay, so I’m not allowed to make decisions for you.  Gotcha,” he dryly nods, and she raises an eyebrow at him.

“Oh, on the contrary, Finnick darling, make all the decisions you want.  Just know that if they negatively impact my reputation in any way I shall be very cross with you,” she purrs, leaning forward as if they actually are on a date and she finds him to be the most charming man she’s ever met.  Both are lies, and Finnick hums in thinly veiled annoyance.

He leans forward too and coyly wonders, “…Three teaspoons of sugar?  That’s a bit excessive for a first date, isn’t it?  You might frighten me off.” 

The side of his mouth quirks up into a smirk.  It’s quickly doused though, when Sil shrugs and tells him, “That was _your_ order, my love, since you seem to adore sugar so very much.”  His smirk disappears and he frowns at her.  She just tilts her head and watches him watch her.

This isn’t how Sil is supposed to act, he thinks.  She’s not supposed to be witty enough to hold her own in conversation.  Then again, she is the socialite of the Capitol, which means she converses for a living.  But she’s airy and stupid…isn’t she?  If so, then how could she so easily meet him word for word as if it is the simplest thing in the world?

Their order comes shortly after.  Sil twists her fingers around her espresso and daintily lifts it to her rouge lips.  She takes a bite out of the croissant and chews slowly as if she’s been trained to eat like this her entire life.  Finnick calculates her every action while he engages her in conversation, trying to think back to her Games and what her life had been like before them.  He can’t remember her Games at all though and isn’t able to discern much.  But he still watches her, and pushes the information into the back of his mind for later consulting.

“Tell me my love,” Sil says just to fill the silence between them, “about District 4.”  She’s surprised she can’t think of anything else at the moment, but it must be because he hasn’t stopped staring at her for a while and it’s making her nervous.

He raises an eyebrow and sarcastically asks, “Haven’t you been to District 4 yourself?”

She just purrs and laughs, “Hearing it from a local such as yourself is entirely different than going as a tourist, darling.  And besides, I only visited the main areas.  Tell me a secret place that only you know.”  She doesn’t entirely intend for it to sound intimate, but her words just naturally twist into that direction.  He leans his chin on his palm and studies her.  She just blinks back.

“A secret place?” he wonders thoughtfully, lifting a croissant to his mouth.  As he thinks, she watches him, trying to figure him out.  But it’s hard figuring out someone like Finnick Odair, and she’s not sure she gets very far.  After a moment, he muses, “…Well there’s an old abandoned cottage on the beaches to the north of the village.  No one uses it anymore though.”

She claps her hands together and gushes, “Oh how terribly romantic!” 

He scoffs because it really isn’t romantic at all, unless of course you think a rickety, abandoned house with no insulation and holes in the roof is romantic.  He’s surprised that Sil would.  Though in her mind it probably looks like an expensive little cottage with plumbing and indoor heating.

He chuckles and leans back in his seat.  “And your District?  I’ve never been to it except for my Victory Tour, and that was years ago.”

Surprisingly, Sil just waves her District away like it’s boring and says, “It’s like a miniature extension of the Capitol, really.  Hardly interesting.”

“Oh come on, I’ve told you a secret place.  Now you tell me one,” he drawls, sort of surprised that he actually finds himself curious.  District 1 has always been the pariah of the Districts because of its attachment to the Capitol.  He’s hardly ever given it a second thought.  But he wants to know more about her, because she confuses him.

She purses her lips and slowly says, “Very well.  On the western side of the district – out past the city you know – there’s a canyon.  I used to drive past it with my father on our way to the Capitol.  It’s huge and steep and goes as far as the eye can see…” she pauses, eyes wide with childish wonder, leaning in like she’s telling him a great secret.

Finnick stares at her, half in wonder too and half amused.  He leans in, watching her closely as she tells her story.  She doesn’t seem to notice, for her eyes are faraway as if she’s witnessing this turn of events herself in some old memory of hers. 

“The first time I saw it,” she murmurs, “it felt like it could have swallowed me whole and not even notice.” 

Quiet silence descends upon them.  She slowly meets his eyes, blinking back the illusion of her memory.  At once she’s back at the table in this little nameless café with Finnick Odair - who is staring at her with strangely provocative eyes, as if he likes her words but isn’t sure what to think of them.

He glances down and away, and the broken contact makes Sil feel a little more relaxed.  She watches as his traces the handle of his mug, then he carefully wonders, “You and your father used to go to the Capitol?  Why?”

It’s an understandable question.  Not very many people have the clearance to travel between districts after all.  But Gemma Cornelius, in his younger years, had been one of the most famous jewelers in District 1.  He would travel twice a year to the Capitol to sell his wares, and half the citizens would gather outside his stall because they couldn’t live without a famous bracelet made by her talented, trusted District 1 father.

She is hesitant in telling him anything about herself, for fear that he may connect the dots and realize who she really is.  But surely speaking of her father would not give anything away?  The Capitol already knows it anyhow, and he would too if he’d ever been interested enough to ask.

“He was a well known jeweler, back when he could still lift a hammer.  He would take me to the Capitol during his trips.”  She looks down at her coffee and says, “…We would stay for weeks at a time.  We’d go to all sorts of parties and meet new people.”  The people she had met during those parties with her father had proved imperative to her in winning her Games later on, but she doesn’t mention that.  Talking about their Games would surely make her upset, especially consider how brave and strong Finnick had been in his…and how dreadfully weak she’d been in hers.

“Ah, so your love of parties began years ago when you were a child,” Finnick says with a smirk, and she wrinkles her nose at him.  As if.  Perhaps she had liked those parties as a child, but no longer.  The parties she goes to now aren’t so much parties as they are bidding ceremonies, anyway, though Finnick doesn’t appear to be aware of that.

“I really can’t believe I’ve agreed to this, my love.  People are staring,” she says suddenly, her voice dropping down to a quieter murmur. 

Finnick just raises his eyebrows and whispers, “That’s because I’m here and they adore me.  It’s got nothing to do with you, trust me.”  He smiles humorously and she frowns at him in mock outrage.

“I’ll have you know that my popularity levels are only 2 points below yours - Capitol Weekly did a poll you see,” she informs him, and he bursts into quiet laughter because she _would_ read Capitol Weekly.  It’s so like her.  She just gives him a snippy look and takes another bite of her croissant.  Be then her eyes drift over to the clock hanging on the opposite wall, and the lighthearted, flirtatious quality of their conversation disappears like her strange, genuine-but-fake smiles.

“Oh blast,” she exclaims, shoving the croissant back onto the plate and hurriedly taking one last sip of her now-cold coffee.  “I’m going to be late.  My meeting with Snow starts in _15 minutes.”_   She doesn’t have to fabricate her drama this time: it is as real as the worried look that creases her eyes.  She can’t be late for Snow’s meeting.  No Victor in their right mind would keep him waiting.

Understanding fills Finnick’s eyes.  He flags down the waiter and quickly pulls several bills from his pockets.  At her curious look, he explains, “Tips,” with a saucy wink that tells her exactly where those tips have come from.  She wrinkles her nose and turns away, but doesn’t comment.

How has the time flown by so quickly?  They must have been sitting in this tiny, cramped café for almost an entire hour.  It hardly feels like twenty minutes have passed.  This baffles her, but she doesn’t say anything about that, either.  Instead she just stands up, slips her hat onto her carefully twisted hairstyle, and grabs her oversized sunglasses.  Finnick stands too and together they hurry out the door…and then loiter awkwardly on the sidewalk like they’re not sure what to say to each other.

Finnick, as always, saves the day with his charming smile.  “Call me tonight, sugar,” he flirts, and before she can stop him, he leans in to press his lips fleetingly to her cheek.  People stare and whisper at that.  She only frowns, entirely unaffected.

“As if,” she mutters, slipping her sunglasses onto her nose.  He only laughs at her like he knows that she’ll call him anyway – which of course only makes her want to throw her phone into the reservoir that surrounds the Capitol just to avoid him.

As he saunters away with an amused wave, Sil curiously glances up at the café they’d just spent the last hour in, wondering again how the time could have passed so quickly, and how she actually enjoyed spending it with him.

But fate has a strange hold on them – something that Sil is only just beginning to realize.  She sets off down the sidewalk and tries not to think about how easy it is to talk about her past with none other than Finnick Odair.

 

* * *

 

Snow’s office is as cold as she remembers it to be.  Nothing has changed since the last time she’s been inside.  Same old ornate crimson rug, same old mahogany desk, same old monster sitting behind it.  The President glances up at her as she steps inside, does a quick sweep of her slightly harried figure, and looks at the clock.  She’s one minute and 30 seconds early and feels quite proud of that fact, _even_ _if_ she had to run down the halls like a maniac and not the pristine Victor she’s supposed to be.

“Come in, my dear,” he tells her.  He sounds almost like a dotting grandfather when he uses that voice.  She doesn’t fall for it of course.  Perhaps she had, once upon a time years before, but Sil has seen what he is capable of.  How he treats Victors and any who threatens him.  She knows there is not a loving bone in his decrepit old body.

She steps forward and sits, folding herself into the dark leather chair in front of his desk.  His eyes return to the page he is reading.  The clock ticks loudly but he doesn’t acknowledge her again for another two dreadfully long minutes.  Two minutes that she allows, because it isn’t exactly in her power to force him to get to the point.

Finally he leans back, dragging his eyes from the paper to her, and Sil wishes then that he had taken more time ignoring her.  She wilts beneath his eyes like a flower left too long in the sun.  But that is a part of her mask too, or at least she tells herself that.  She’s a rebel, working covertly for District 13.  She has been for years and she isn’t afraid of him.  But she is.  She is.

“You’ve been…busy, haven’t you?” Snow asks, but the tone of his voice remains flat.  He’s not asking her a question, he’s merely stating a fact.  Sil stiffens in her chair and clenches her fingers together in her lap.  She sends him a wry smile and shrugs as if she’s feeling bashful.

Snow sighs.  She drops her smile.  He stares at her and shakes his head, “Two days ago you were seen sneaking out of Finnick Odair’s apartment.  And now just an hour ago you were having coffee with him in a little café downtown.  Tell me, Silver, what am I supposed to think about all this?”

A subtle breath of relief passes through her lips.  So he doesn’t realize that she’s been busy smuggling wayward Capitolites out of his city, just that she’s supposedly been intimate with another Victor.  Well, that’s good.  She doesn’t ask how he already knows about the coffee date, if you could even call it that.  It was more like a forced brunch that Finnick dragged her into.  But anyway, she doesn’t say anything at first.  Snow stares at her hard, watching her wilt beneath his eyes, and then sighs like he’s tired of dealing with his overgrown, rebellious child.  If only he knows how close to that she is…well, the rebellious part anyway – not the overgrown child –

“Imagine what the Capitol citizens think, when they see Mr. Odair having lunch with their little socialite friend.  Oh, they could just assume that it’s a friendly meeting between two Victors…but then again you’ve never once had lunch together in these seven years since your victory.”  Snow raises an eyebrow at her and tilts his head.  “More likely, they’ll assume that there’s something else going on.  Very bad for business, really.  You should know better, Silver.”

She stays silent.  When he’s in his scolding mood, it is better not to talk.  She feels like a child being talked down to by a parent.  It makes her blood boil in her veins, but there’s nothing she can do about it.  Not unless she wants punishment.

Snow steeples his fingers together and she swallows hard.  Her fingers are so tightly grasped in her lap that they are pale white.  In a slow voice, Snow tells her, “Mr. Odair must have informed you of my decision to have you both date.  Otherwise you would never go to lunch so publicly.” 

This time she talks.  But it isn’t the angry, outraged speech she’d had for Finnick when she’d found out about this dating business.  No, her voice now is softer, weaker, submissive when she murmurs, “I don’t really understand the reason for that, President Snow.  Why do you want us to date?”

He leans back, blinks at her, and then goes to stand up.  Sil stiffens as he does, but there’s nothing to fear.  He’s merely walking to the window, hands behind his back as he looks out over the rose garden that spans the courtyard below.  As he looks down upon it, Snow explains, “Finnick would never fall in love with you, Silver.  Everybody knows it.” 

She stares down at her hands hard, frowning just a little as she hears this. 

“However, he might just pity you enough to pretend to date you since you’ve been seen leaving his apartment.  I want you to show the Capitol that you’re both in love with each other.  Use this relationship to meet new people.  Collect more names.  …And take the eyes of the Capitol off of Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark.”

Ah.  So that’s the real reason.  That’s the golden center of this confusing situation.  He is afraid of Katniss and Peeta.  He’s afraid that they’re getting too popular in the Capitol.  If Katniss is to be the face of the rebellion as Plutarch has told her, then Snow is right to be afraid. 

But since Silver Lamprey Cornelius is not supposed to know any of this, she merely clears her throat and quietly wonders, “…Katniss and Peeta, sir?”  As if she has no idea why they’re so important.

Snow laughs and turns to her, cold eyes flickering in amusement.  “You know, Silver, I believe you might be my favorite Victor.”  The words make her stare in carefully faked surprise and carefully hidden malice.  Snow tilts his head at her and smiles, “You have your priorities straightened out…unlike some of the others.  You do what I ask and you don’t complain.  You never try to change anything.  It’s very refreshing, my dear.”  He says it like it’s a compliment that should make Sil fall over at his feet and kiss the ground he walks on.  She doesn’t.

If only he knew just how much she goes against his every order.  Her priorities are straight, but they don’t follow his path and they don’t align with his Capitol.  She’s been changing things since the moment she stumbled out of the arena seven years ago and then fell in with Mr. Dorsey, who had given her another alternative.  She’s been going behind his back to fund a group of rebels and Snow doesn’t even know it, because of one reason: he thinks that the only thing Sil cares about is fashion and gossip and parties and being famous.  One day she will take off her mask and show him exactly what kind of woman she really is.  But as for today…

“How kind of you, sir,” she says with a little smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.  He doesn’t notice of course.  Snow never notices, not really.  He sees her in whatever way he wants to.  As a tool and a form of manipulation but definitely not as a human being with actual emotions.

Snow stares at her for a long moment.  Seven years he has spent tempering her into the perfect socialite.  Seven years spent ensuring that the Capitol adores her above any other Victor.  And now Katniss Everdeen has stumbled into the fray, and all his hard work is crumbling away.  But a relationship between Finnick Odair and Silver Lamprey Cornelius – the two hottest, most beloved Victors of all time – could be just the thing he needs to take the adoration off of the Girl on Fire.

“I expect you to go to every social event together.  Introduce him to your friends.  Go out in public.  Sweep the Capitol off its feet with this relationship, Silver.  Pretend like you’re in love with him, but be ready to end it whenever I say so.”  He waits for her to nod, and then in a bored voice he tells her, “Good.  I’m glad to see we’re in agreement.  I’ll be setting up several interviews for the two of you soon.”  He waves his hand and she takes it as an invitation to leave.

As Sil walks out of the mansion and into the taxi that’s waiting to take her home, she tries to slow her harried breathing.  She had expected all his words, as Finnick had warned her earlier about this relationship.  What she hadn’t expected was the fact that Snow intends to use their relationship to take the attention off of Katniss.  But what can she do to stop that?  She’s trapped on all sides. 

Gritting her teeth, Sil leans forward and tells the driver, “Drop me off at Gigi’s, darling.”  The driver nods and changes course, swinging smoothly down a side street that connects with one of the busier shopping districts in the city. 

Gigi’s is the largest and most expensive department store in the Capitol.  Sil often makes appearances there.  She gets most of her gowns from its pristine racks, and it is definitely not odd that she would so suddenly want to go there now.  She has stated many times in interviews that shopping is her stress reliever.  It’s something her alter ego would be expected to say.  But as she tips the driver and steps out into the crowded bustling streets, Sil doesn’t go into Gigi’s.  Instead she just quietly disappears down several alleyways that spit her back out into a much less crowded, much more decrepit neighborhood.

Mr. Dorsey’s shop is closed, or so it says, but as Sil walks toward it she doesn’t bother adhering to this.  He rather expects her to come and go whenever she wants anyhow, and doesn’t complain when he hears her open the door, completely ignoring the sign.

“Sil,” he says, peeking around the curtain that sections off the back room.  He looks the same as ever.  A cigarette hangs from his lips and he looks droopy and sleepy.  When he sees her, his face turns amused.  “How’s your new boyfriend?”  She immediately scowls.

“Oh please,” she mutters, rolling her eyes.  She’s too tired to even attempt to wear her mask.  Mr. Dorsey doesn’t care one way or the other.  She frowns mightily and leans against the counter, mumbling, “I’ve just come from Snow’s office.  He wants us to date in order to take some of the attention off of Katniss Everdeen.” 

Mr. Dorsey hums.  “Yes, that’s what I thought.  Coin already knows.  I’ve been in contact with her this morning.”

Sil huffs.  Does everybody in Panem already know about her fake relationship with Finnick Odair?  Did everyone know before she herself did?  How ironic, that the Capitol gossip who knows everything isn’t even aware that she’s in a relationship until her ‘significant other’ has to spell it out for her.  Mr. Dorsey sees the look in her eyes and chuckles.

“Don’t worry, Sil, Coin doesn’t think you’re betraying the cause.  She actually thinks you can use this to your advantage.”  He pauses to take a drag of his cigarette, then adds, “Just be careful that Odair doesn’t realize your connections.  He could ruin everything.”

She raises a sarcastic eyebrow at him, and Mr. Dorsey shrugs.  He gives her a secretive smile and drawls, “On the other hand, he would be very useful were he to join our ranks.”

Sil frowns and grudgingly nods in agreement.  She’s feeling very grumpy after her meeting with Snow.  But hearing that Coin doesn’t think she’s turned against the rebellion makes Sil feel better.  The rebellion is all she has, really.  It’s what gets her up in the morning.  Especially now, with Katniss being the unsuspecting face of it all.  Time is ticking, and she won’t have to wait much longer.

With a flourish of her wrist, Sil lifts her fingers up to her black opal and diamond earrings and drops them onto the counter.  “Here.  I think I have…” she digs around in her clutch and smiles triumphantly, “…yes, here it is.  A hair piece.  Isn’t it lovely?”  She sets the 16 karat ruby hair comb onto the counter and Mr. Dorsey leans in to have a better look.

He whistles low and shakes his head, lifting it to the light and turning it at different angles.  “You, my dear, are amazing,” he tells her with a smile, and she grins back. 

“Aren’t I just?” she purrs.  She gestures to it and says, “It’s an old piece my father made years ago.  I meant to bring it before but I’m afraid I forgot.”  He nods and tucks it under the counter along with the opal earrings. 

“Ah, before I forget, Coin did have a message for you,” he tells her, and crouches down to look for the envelope that’s also been stuffed somewhere beneath the counter.  When he finds it several moments later, he stands up and hands it to her. 

It’s blank, and when she opens it, the usual black communication device is laying in the folds of the paper.  It fits into her tablet and has been specially coded to only open after a series of passwords and lengthy troubleshooting techniques.  No lazy letters for her, not when she’s stuck in the center of the Capitol.

“Thanks,” she tells him quickly, and shoves the device into her clutch.  “I’ll be back later this week.  My father is sending more jewelry from District 1 after I told him I’ve got nothing at all to wear to the Gala next month.”  She smirks at Mr. Dorsey and he chuckles.  This time, when she disappears from his shop, there is no confusing personality change.  Sil merely storms off, heels clicking loudly as she ducks into an alley and vanishes from sight.

 


	4. In Medusa's deadly embrace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys haven't noticed yet, I'm planning on updating the story every Tuesday for the time being. When my schedule allows, I'll probably update more often, but you can expect new chapters Tuesdays without fail ;) The story is already finished, so I'm really just working around the editing process now.
> 
> Thank you for the reviews! I'm really pleased with how this story turned out, so I hope everyone else likes it as much as I do.

* * *

 

**Chapter Four | In Medusa’s deadly embrace**

 

_“She watched his anxiety melting away under her sunny smile, and soon perceived that, whatever doubt may have crossed his mind at the moment, by the time the last bars of the minuet had been played, he never realized in what a fever of excitement she was; what effort it cost her to keep up a constant ripple of banal conversation.”  Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

 

Sil doesn’t have time to look at Coin’s message until much later, when she’s getting ready for an opera event that she is attending with a high-born Capitol man who’s paid for her presence.  Besides the endless parties, there are also endless events that she goes to as well, for the primary sake of those paying for her.  Usually her services extend only as far as the public eye.  She rarely takes the men home with her unless they pay for that, too.  But this one, thankfully, only seems to want her by his side for the exclusive purpose of vaulting his own public image.  He either doesn’t have the interest or the money to afford a night with her.  She is extremely expensive, after all.

She opens the message while she sits in front of her vanity and applies her make-up.  The years have made her familiar with Coin’s electronic passwords and tangled, spy-proof mechanisms.  Her fingers fly over the screen as she enters word after word, unraveling the complexity of a single message.  A message that, once she opens it, is only a few sentences long. 

Sil reads it quickly, devouring each word with an eagerness that comes as naturally as breathing.  She’s been waiting for a message for months now.

_“Things will be moving quickly now.  Pay close attention to Snow.  Gather as much information as you can and make use of Odair.”_

And that’s it.  Just a few words and a thinly veiled order.  To spy for 13.  What does Coin think she’s been doing all these years, if not spy?  Sil sighs and deletes the message.  Coin must be telling her to step up her game, to learn deeper secrets.  To become more of a spy than she’s already become.  As Sil colors her lips with orange lipstick, she pauses, her mind whirling as a sudden thought pushes into it.  Finnick Odair knows a lot of secrets.  He _could_ help her.  Only she’d have to make sure that he doesn’t know her real motives.

But it would be perfect.  They’re dating now, after all.  They’ll be seeing each other a lot more than they used to.  And he doesn’t think she’s anything more than a foppish, lightheaded girl without any brains.  He wouldn’t suspect her for being anything more than that, and why would he?  She’s worked for seven whole years fabricating her image, creating the stupid, naïve version of herself that everyone knows.  No one is aware as to what she’s really like beneath the dramatic veneer she has cultivated.  Finnick Odair might be smart and good at seeing the truth, but not when she’s got multitudes of truth to draw from and a very convincing alibi.

Quickly, she opens up a new message and types the words, _“Your wish, my command – N,”_ into her electronic PADD.  N, for the Nightingale.

It’s all very roundabout and was created with the assistance of Coin.  But it ties Sil to the rebellion by morphing her family ties into a codename all for her own.  After all, only the best spies have roundabout codenames for themselves.  Or at least that’s what Sil likes to tell herself when she’s feeling gloomy. 

She hits send.  The message will go to Mr. Dorsey, who will then transfer it to District 13 and Coin.  When she sees that it is sent, Sil locks the PADD and puts it into her clutch.  She never goes anywhere without it, and why would she?  Silver Lamprey Cornelius would never dream of going to a party without her communicator.  She thrives on gossip, after all, as well as news of the rebellion.

She’s in the middle of clipping her hair up on top of her head when suddenly her doorbell rings, and Sil stops.  Her social client isn’t supposed to meet her at her apartment.  She’s the one who is supposed to meet him at the opera house.  So who is at her door?

Sil sashays into her living room and moves across her kitchen, tightening her silk robe as she pads across the tiled floor.  She peers through the peephole and gasps, pales, jerks away from the wood like it’s cursed.  Because Finnick Odair is standing right outside, dressed to the divines and holding flowers.  Flowers.  What the hell is he doing here at this time of night?  Doesn’t he have a client or some such thing?

She closes her eyes, calms herself, and takes a deep breath.  There is no use being angry at him.  Her alter ego is not supposed to get angry at things like this.  She’s just supposed to laugh it off and politely welcome him into her apartment.  The apartment that no one except President Snow and herself has ever been inside of.

She plasters on a pleasantly surprised smile and opens the door calmly, leaning against the threshold as she peers up at Finnick.  He glances at her, eyes drifting over her robe and smirking.  She doesn’t appear to care for her state of dress, and just trills, “Finnick my love, what on earth are you doing here?”

Before he can answer, she exclaims, “Gracious!  How rude of me!  Do come in, darling.  Would you like some wine?”  She opens the door wider and hurries to the bottle of wine she’s set out on the side table.  Funny, she thinks, that Finnick is the one who finally makes her break out the stemmed glasses.  She pours him one before he can either accept or deny, and sends him a flirty smile as she hands it to him.

He takes it, looking a little sarcastic, but then charmingly says, “These are for you, sugar.  Daffodils for your sweet innocence.”  He smiles patronizingly and she tries not to scoff as she takes the bouquet.  Sweet innocence?  As if.  But let him believe it.  Let him believe whatever he wants, so long as he doesn’t think she could be anything _but_ innocent. 

“As much as I adore daffodils, I really don’t understand why you’re here,” she says, walking over to her countertop and distributing the flowers into a tall crystal vase.  He watches her as she does it, crossing his arms over his chest. 

In a dry voice, Finnick explains, “Apparently Snow seems to think that you shouldn’t go on dates with other men while we’re together.  All of your _social outings_ are going to be chaperoned by me.”  He’s obviously not pleased about this.  She can hardly blame him.

She glances at him over her shoulder and frowns, “But darling, does that mean that you don’t have to do…what you do?”  He frowns too.

“Unfortunately it doesn’t work that way,” he tells her with a shrug, as if he doesn’t care at all that he still has to visit hotel rooms and Capitol women.  She knows he does though.  Sometimes when he doesn’t think anyone’s watching him, Finnick gets this mournful, terrible expression and it’s like the entire world is crushing him flat.  He doesn’t look that way now, of course, but neither does he look entirely strong.  She slows, examining him.  When he meets her eyes with his, Sil clears her throat and nods.

“I see,” is all she says, and then breaks out into another naïve smile.  “I’ll go get dressed.  Please make yourself at home, my love.  It shall only take a moment!”

It takes half an hour.  Finnick waits for her in the living room.  When Sil steps out of her bedroom, dressed to the nines, he’s flipping through the channels of her television.  She stops to just look at him for a moment, taking in the lazy but somehow charming way he’s sitting, all spread over the couch like he owns it.  His wavy bronze hair is mussed but always perfect despite any circumstance, and the suit he’s wearing cuts a fine figure. 

“I know I’m the most gorgeous man in Panem,” Finnick’s voice suddenly sounds, “but there’s no need to stare, sugar.”  He turns to catch her eye over his shoulder and winks.  She sends him a simpering smile that reminds him of a double edged sword.

“I really don’t know how this is going to work, my dear,” Sil sighs, fixing her already perfect hair.  It’s looped up on top of her head in an intricate style and clipped at the back with a silver filigree barrette.  She looks at her reflection in the hallway mirror and says, “My client may not be very happy that he won’t have me all to himself, you know.”

But Finnick just laughs, clicks the TV off, and stands up.  He gestures to himself and smirks, “Are you kidding?  He’ll probably shit his pants just at the sight of me!” 

Sil gives him a look and drawls, “Dear me, I do hope that isn’t a normal reaction.” 

He chuckles.  A week ago, he hadn’t expected Sil would be so amusing.  Then again, a week ago he had spoken as few words as possible to her.  Now he wonders why.  Normally he’d go out of his way to get to know other Victors, but she had never interested him very much.  Or perhaps she had, and he’d just tried to fit in with the other Victors – the ones who dislike her. 

“Mmm…depends,” Finnick tells her as he offers up his arm.  She takes it and together they step out into the hallway. 

“On what?” she asks, not sure if she really wants to know. 

He winks at her and smoothly says, “On whether the person in question is planning to spend the night underneath me, of course.”  Yeah, she doesn’t want to know. 

Sil glances at him and tilts her head, then mutters dryly, “Gracious, what a thing to say.” 

She doesn’t mention anything about how many people she’s aware of who have done just that.  And she certainly doesn’t say anything about the little fact that she’s spent the last few years inviting them to do so as if she’s merely inviting them for a cup of tea or some such mundane thing.  Guilt momentarily crushes her – a common reaction to her deeds, however forced – but luckily Finnick doesn’t notice the crease of it in her eyes.  He’s too busy jokingly adding, “Half the Capitol has probably found their way into my bed, actually.  Is that a deal breaker?”  He laughs, and Sil simpers.

_“If_ we were actually dating for _real,”_ she annunciates, “…Then perhaps.  However, as I am a Victor myself, I am quite aware of the things Snow makes us do.  And besides, we _aren’t_ dating so it _can’t_ be a deal breaker, darling.”

Finnick glances at her.  There’s a strangely serious emotion in his eyes, as if he’s really considering her words.  He knows better than anyone how messed up he has become.  The Capitol has stolen his dignity and his confidence.  The confidence he wears in public is just as mask, like so many others that each Victor wears.  He thinks back at her words, at the way she’d said how she’s very much aware of the things Snow does to them. 

As they step toward the elevators, Finnick tilts his head and muses, “But Snow doesn’t do anything to you.  Or does he?” 

The question is genuinely curious.  Finnick has never heard of Sil being manipulated into prostitution, at least not to the degree that he is.  He knows that her father is still alive.  He’s always thought she’s lived a pretty cushy life, for a Victor, and has always chalked it up to her being from District 1.  Is he missing something?

But Sil merely tilts her head back and giggles, waving his words away like they’re merely air that she doesn’t want to breathe in.  “Our dear President Snow has many, many ways to make our lives a living hell, Finnick.  Luckily I have other things I enjoy doing that makes my life a little better.” 

Like funding rebellions, for instance, or spying for District 13.  She quips a secretive smile that Finnick doesn’t notice, because he’s too busy rolling his eyes and thinking how wrong he’d been.

Sil is just an airheaded Victor.  How he could ever think she is anything more baffles him.  She’s clearly somewhat aware of the horrors of the Capitol, but does she really know how far they extend?  Has Snow ever made her do anything that makes her skin crawl?  He doesn’t think so.  Not like him.  Not like how he has to visit endless hotel rooms and be with women who don’t care a thing about him except to get a certain high rush that they cannot get at home.

Wryly, and slightly indulgently, Finnick drawls, “Like your parties,” as if he’s coming to a conclusion about her.  She glances at him quickly but he isn’t looking at her.  He’s just standing in the center of the elevator staring hard at the wall, and suddenly he is a God that cannot be bothered to pay attention to her.  To her, Silver Lamprey Cornelius, the airheaded socialite that everyone thinks of as a dumb, witless Victor who somehow survived the Hunger Games.

She hums, twists her arm-length gloves up her biceps, and shrugs.  “Precisely, darling,” is all she says, and tells herself that she is happy.  She’s happy he thinks that way about her.  Happy he doesn’t see her for who she truly is.  It just shows her how good of an actress she is, if she can trick Finnick Odair. 

But inside she is not happy.  Pretending to be dumb and blonde is not what she wants.  What she truly wants is to live in a world that is free of Snow and the Hunger Games and all his manipulation.  But in order to have that, she must continue.  She must wear these airs. 

She cannot be anyone but the foppish socialite she is thought to be by all of Panem.  Because what better place to hide than right here in plain sight, under the watchful gaze of Snow?  All of his secrets are laid out in front of her, hers for the taking.  All she has to do is laugh and say stupid things and be the fop that she’s supposed to be.  That’s all.  So why is it so hard to pretend when it comes to Finnick?  Why does she want him to see that there are more angles to her?

They make their way to the opera house in silence, or at least on Finnick’s part.  Sil peppers the one-sided conversation with tidbits of her day, her thoughts on fashion, and how she thinks the current trends are horrendous and completely lacking in insightfulness.  (“I mean really, my darling – cat ears?  _Tails?_   If we wanted to be mutts then surely we would have already evolved into those creatures.”)  Finnick just stays quiet and looks rather unhappy.  He isn’t even bothering to look pleased that he’s been stuck with her for however long Snow wants them to ‘date’.

All of this changes, of course, the moment they reach their destination.  The door opens and suddenly Finnick is as charming as ever, smiling down at her and offering his arm for her to take.  Sil doesn’t comment on the abrupt change in his personality.  She’s got more important things to concern herself with than his moodiness.  She’s got information to collect, spying to do, and name-gathering for Snow to partake in.  Her job never ends.

Her evening client is waiting in the lobby.  She catches sight of him immediately and raises her hand demurely in the air.  In her usual dramatic voice she calls, “Darling, we’re here!  Oh come now, Finnick my love, and I’ll introduce you to my date.  George, darling, this is Finnick Odair.  He simply insisted that he join us tonight – I do hope you aren’t cross with me – because he’s never seen _Le Baiser Rouge_ before.  Can you even imagine someone not seeing it?  It sounds simply terrible, my love.  Finnick darling it means ‘the red kiss’ you know – is it not so _dreadfully_ romantic?”  She rattles on for a few more minutes, filling the silence with her dramatic words that flow naturally from her lips.  She’s gotten very good at making conversation about absolutely nothing – a skill that she utilizes quite frequently in her line of work.

Finnick and George, her client, lean in to shake hands.  George sends him an excited look and Finnick seems proud to prove her wrong.  Her client is clearly very eager to have both Victors by his side tonight, despite the fact that it was supposed to be only Sil.  Since this is most likely an attempt at raising his own social status, though, George is obviously extremely pleased.

“Mr. Odair, it’s wonderful to make your acquaintance.  Truly, I’m honored.  So honored – “ George says once Sil breaks off to take a deep breath. 

Finnick waves him away and insists, “Call me Finnick, please.”  And George looks like he might faint.  Sil thinks it’s a little silly to be so eager to meet Finnick Odair, but then she knows how crazy the Capitol is about their Victors. 

“Shall we go and find our seats?” George asks, appearing on Sil’s other side to offer his arm.  Sil sends him a flirtatious smile that he returns, and together the three of them walk forward, arm in arm with Sil in the center.  It feels strange walking like that, with two hulking men towering over her, but she manages to appear as calm and happy as ever.

People greet them as they pass, whispering about the sight of Sil and Finnick in public together.  _(“Do you know about their affair?”  “Oh, yes, it’s true, she was seen leaving his apartment a few mornings back.”  “How scandalous!”  “How lucky, you mean – what I’d give to be in Finnick Odair’s bed!”)_   They ignore the whispers and Sil fills the awkwardness with more conversation that both men seem rather bored by.  She doesn’t care.  She has an image to produce after all, to make sure that George tells her the things she wants to know.

George is apparently some big-shot Capitol man who works several offices below the new Head Gamemaker, Plutarch Heavensbee.  Sil does, of course, know Plutarch.  He’d been the one who had introduced her and Dorsey to the rebellion, some years before.  He’d been ecstatic when he’d heard that George had requested Sil as his date this evening and had told Sil that he might know several important things about Snow’s plans for the upcoming Quarter Quell – plans that even Plutarch isn’t aware of yet, despite him being the Head Gamemaker.

They take their seats.  Finnick on her left, her Capitol date on her right.  George kindly offers to take her coat and Sil allows him to help her out of it.  As they get comfortable in their luxurious booth, Sil begins a conversation about the latest Hunger Games and how spectacular they were.  She’d rather not talk about this in front of Finnick, but she isn’t sure when or if she’ll be able to see George again.  So she gushes about the Games like a normal Capitol woman would, and each word she says makes Finnick’s expression darker and darker.  He remains resolutely silent at her side, as if he can’t believe she would have the audacity to think of the Games as anything but disgusting.  And she does – think it’s disgusting, that is – but she also knows the importance of pretending, especially when one wants to find out things.

George, at least, has a great deal to say about the Games.  Like every Capitol enthusiast, he joins in on her gushing and soon they are both regaling their favorite parts – and their least favorite.

“Oh my, and do you recall that moment when the boy from 11 – Thrush was it? – bashed that other boy’s head in?  Goodness that was bloody,” Sil says as she looks over the opera house and watches people find their seats.  Then she adds, as if it is a second thought, “It was really such a shame that Glimmer, my girl from 1 you know, didn’t win.  She would have made such a bright and vibrant Victor, don’t you agree?”

“Not nearly as vibrant as you, Miss Cornelius,” he returns immediately, taking her hand into his and pressing a kiss against her skin.  She reins her cringe back and forces herself to erupt into waves of tiny musical giggles that, in turn, make Finnick flinch.  “Dear me, George, there’s no need to be so very _proper_.  My friends call me Sil,” she trills at him, watching as his lips curl upward at the mention of ‘friends’. 

“Of course, Sil,” he says, smoothly incorporating her name with the utmost eagerness.  She inquires into his job in the Capitol, curiously wondering what he does for a living.  She already knows, of course, that he is one of the technological geniuses for the Arena.  But when he tells her this, in so many words, Sil’s eyes light up in perfect surprise, as if she’d never heard such things before.

“Truly?” she asks, leaning forward.  Her hand slips onto his arm in a seemingly thoughtless manner as she asks, “And what sort of things do you do there?  I have never met a Gamemaker you know.” 

He is all too happy to spill what he does, and every little detail she asks of him.  She doubts any Victor, or anyone else for that matter, has ever cared much about his job.  But she digests each and every word carefully, attentively, and George continues to talk, not even realizing who exactly he is speaking to.

He works on the third floor as an Operations Gamemaker.  He handles each floor as a secretary might an office.  Distributing papers, news, emails, messages…those are some of the things he does.  But he’s also the one who hears things from Snow before the other floors do.  Snow’s particular requests for the Games each year are processed through the Operations floor before they are distributed to the other floors.  Which means that George knows what Snow has planned for the upcoming Games.  And Sil will do everything in her power to find out.

She’s trying to think of how she should bring up the subject when the lights suddenly darken and the opera house goes silent.  She frowns and curses inwardly.  Her only chance now is to wait until intermission and try to continue where the conversation has left off.

The only problem with this is Finnick.  He sits through the entire first half of the opera looking utterly bored out of his mind.  Sil sends him several meaningful glances but he ignores them all.  By the time intermission creeps forward, he’s making her grit her teeth to suppress her anger. 

The lights gently brighten and George turns to her with a smile, “That was as good as I remember it being.  The next half is even better though, don’t you agree Sil?”  As she nods happily, smile plastered onto her face, George glances at Finnick and politely asks, “How are you enjoying the show, Finnick?”

Finnick turns to him with a slight smile and lies, “It’s wonderful.  I can’t believe I never wanted to go to an opera before.”  His voice is flat and so obviously fake, but George is either too stupid to notice or just lets it pass out of politeness.  He nods and turns back to Sil, who is now leaning into him in an attempt to get away from the waves of negativity rolling from Finnick’s body.

“Perhaps you’d like something to drink while we wait for the next half?” he asks her, sounding rather doting.  She tilts her head up to send him a rewarding smile and says, “Please, George, that would be lovely.  How attentive you are!”  She smiles at him until he has disappeared from the booth, and then her grin drops into a scowl and she turns to Finnick.

“Would it kill you to at least pretend you like the opera?” she hisses quietly, narrowing her eyes at him through the dim light.  He glowers back at her, crosses his arms, and sinks into his chair like a little boy who isn’t allowed to eat cookies or some other ridiculous thing.  She gives him an unimpressed look.

“Oh I’m sorry,” he lowly hisses back, glaring at the stage far below them.  “I’m a little preoccupied by the disgust I’m feeling toward you and the way you were _gushing_ over _the Hunger Games_ to a _Capitol man_.”  He shoots her a spiteful glance and she straightens her back, pursing her lips tightly.

Silence descends.  They spend nearly a minute wallowing in it, until at last Sil murmurs, “I do believe the disgust you feel toward me is only a fraction of the disgust I have for myself.”  The mutter is lightly said, like she means for him not to hear it beneath her voice.  But he does.  He hears it and he stares at her, confusion churning his thoughts.  Why does he always feel confused toward her?  Why does she always take him off guard, just when he thinks he’s got her figured out?

“What do you mean by that?” he demands quietly.  He needs to know why she thinks it’s okay to pretend to love the Hunger Games when she apparently loathes them just as much as every other Victor.  He has to know why she allows herself to flirt and lie and pretend with all these Capitol men and women.  Snow is not manipulating her like he’s manipulating him, is he?  Because Finnick highly doubts that.  In all the seven years of Sil being a Victor, never has Finnick seen any hint of Snow forcing her to do anything.

Sure, there are the odd hotel rooms that he knows Sil goes to.  Every female Victor, save perhaps for Johanna Mason, goes to those rooms.  It is the way of the Capitol.  But besides that rare form of torture, Finnick can’t think of anything else he’s seen Sil do.  Nothing else that stands out in his memory of her.  Yet he feels as if he’s missing something very big, something that stares at him right in the face, and it’s bothering him to no end.  This is one secret he needs to know, except he’s got no idea where it begins and where it ends, and no idea how to start looking for it.

Sil sends him a suave smile and opens her mouth in faux surprise and lies, “Why darling, it was a quote in the opera!  _‘Credo che il disgusto che provi nei miei confronti sia solo una parte del disgusto che ho per me stesso._ ’”  She recites the words with such finesse that Finnick stares, shocked that she would be smart enough to remember the Old Languages that are no longer used except for operas or plays or some such entertainment.  She trills a short laugh and tells him, “I surely don’t hate _myself_ , if that’s what you mean.  How on earth could I?”  She smile demurely and Finnick stares down at her with hard eyes.  She knows why he’s looking at her like that.  It’s because in his mind, she’s returned to the pedestal she’s always had.  The pedestal rising up out of the foppish, stupid, murky waters of her own shallowness.

Finnick chuckles humorlessly and shakes his head.  He cannot believe her.  He absolutely cannot believe that she could be so stupid.  “And you wonder why the other Victors hate you?  It is impossible to love someone as shallow as yourself.”  His words bite her.  She recoils a little, drawing herself away from him in surprise and hurt.  He looks almost happy to see it there, on her face.  As if he’s excited that he’s able to force another emotion onto her features.  An emotion that isn’t her foppish twisted smile or her carefully set surprise.  But this emotion, this hurt that flashes into her eyes, is something that Finnick has never seen before.

As he storms out of the opera without bothering to stay for the rest of it, he tells himself that he is happy.  He’s happy he’d hurt her.  She needs a reality check.  She needs to know just how much the other Victors can’t stand her – and why.  She needs to fix herself before it’s too late.

But something inside of him whispers at him as he stands there in the middle of the sidewalk with rain clouding the sky above him.  Something that cracks through him and almost, almost feels like guilt.

 

* * *

 

 

Sil knows that people don’t like her.  She knows they only indulge her for the sake of her vaulted social status.  The Capitol men and woman she sees each day like her not for her brains, but for her stupidity.  The Victors don’t like her at all.  She knows this, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt to be reminded of it.

She suffers through the rest of the opera.  She actually loathes the opera.  Not because she doesn’t like art, but because to her it isn’t art.  To her it is just another job, just another night on the town that she’d rather spend cozied up in her apartment.  She cannot remember the last time she had a free night that is hers alone, a night that doesn’t involve heavy gowns and make-up and pasted on smiles.

George doesn’t tell her anything she doesn’t already know, which only adds to the failure that the night has become.  By the time she returns to her apartment, she feels so exhausted that she actually wants to sleep, for once, nightmares or no.

“Don’t let it worry you, my love,” she tells her reflection, then winces and wishes that her endearing pet names don’t come so easily to her.  They never used to, but years pretending to be the foppish Silver Lamprey Cornelius have certainly made the lines between her dual personalities blurry at best.  Sometimes she wonders who she even is anymore: the stupid airheaded socialite or the cunning rebel-in-disguise.  Sometimes, she wonders which disguise she is even wearing.

Finnick and the others don’t understand.  They don’t understand because they’ve never actually taken the time to get to know her.  They’ve never wanted to get to know her, never wanted anything to do with the lone Victor who apparently loves the Capitol just as much as every other Capitol citizen.  How foolish they all are, that they would think something so ridiculous.  That they would actually assume that a Victor, however brainless, could like the Capitol even a little bit.  Foolish and blind, and not even a little bit interested in changing their viewpoints.

Finnick doesn’t understand and she hopes he never will.  He cannot know the truth about her, even if she wants him to.  Every stupid twisted smile she gives makes her curl up a little inside, but he cannot know. 

She is Silver Lamprey Cornelius and she is brainless.  She is not a rebel.  She loves socializing and going to parties and wearing pretty things. 

In the mirror, her reflection simpers.  She quirks a smirk that looks rather out of place on her normally smiling face.  “I can do this,” she tells herself with a nod.  “I’m Silver Lamprey Cornelius and I am the greatest spy Panem will ever know.”

 


	5. That catches you as a storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Tuesday update! Please enjoy and thank you for all the reviews!

* * *

 

**Chapter Five | That catches you as a storm**

 

_“Thus human beings judge of one another, superficially, casually, throwing contempt on one another, with little reason, and no charity.”  Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

 

Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, the two newest Victors of the Capitol, are as different as two planets out of orbit – and yet that very orbit is what connects them even as they circle in opposite directions.  This is what Sil initially thinks the moment she sees them on television and notices their contrasting personalities.  It is a point that is driven home when she actually meets them for the first time at the Victory Tour Gala several weeks later.

It’s the final stop of their Victory Tour.  They’ve already been around Panem and have seen all the other districts.  Now their trip is at an end, but it isn’t over yet.  The Capitol never does anything halfheartedly, especially when it involves their Victors.  That’s why this Gala is one of the largest ones that Sil has been to all year, and she’s been to quite a few.  The only difference besides the grand size of this party is the fact that tonight, she’s got a date.  But it isn’t the sort of date she’s all too happy about.  Finnick isn’t all that happy either, though he’s very good at covering it up.

“Oh look, there’s our dear friend George,” Finnick sarcastically points out, hauling Sil across the crowd the moment they enter the party.  She teeters in her 4 inch heels but doesn’t complain.  Partly because she knows it won’t do any good, and partly because the mere idea of speaking to him after what he’d said to her the last time they went out together makes her sick. 

They’ve seen each other several times since the opera, but each time had been riddled with awkward and angry silences.  It’s been about a week and a half since their last ‘date’.  Far too short a time, really.  Tonight is going to be long and tedious.

“Darling, perhaps you should go get me a drink,” Sil tells him and tries to unlock his arm from hers.  Her words are really more of an order: an attempt to give her some space. 

Finnick would like nothing more than to give her that space, but he can’t help but quietly ask, fake smile plastered onto his mouth, “Why, so someone can drug you again?  Are you ever going to explain that one?” 

She only smiles serenely, pretending like his words are sweet and not the barbed things they actually are.  She laughs and finally wrenches her arm from his.  “No indeed, my love, I don’t think I ever shall,” she tells him loudly, and Finnick clears his throat when close by guests turn to glance their way. 

Sil only smiles at them and the world falls into the chaotic party that is the Victory Tour Gala.  “Oh look, there’s Katniss and Peeta!” Sil exclaims, and grabs Finnick’s arm again like she’d never let go of it in the first place. 

He sighs and mutters, “Guess that drink will have to wait.”  He could use one himself.  Some hard liquor wouldn’t go amiss.

They make their way across the dance floor to the other side of the room, where Katniss Everdeen is being bombarded by Capitol admirers.  The moment they all see Sil and Finnick, more people latch into the crowd and Sil chuckles, shaking her head at the attention.  She slides smoothly beside Katniss and takes her arm, leading her away from the crowd and saying, “Katniss, darling, how lovely to meet you.  I’m Silver Lamprey Cornelius, but you can call me Sil you know, all my dear friends do.  And I have a feeling we’ll become such dear friends.  Gracious, your hair is beautiful, I wish mine had that much color – oh, and this must be Peeta.  My love it’s wonderful to meet you!” 

She pauses to take a breath.  Over her head, Finnick sends Katniss an amused smirk and does a ‘she never stops talking’ hand gesture with his thumb and the rest of his fingers.  Katniss raises an eyebrow, though she can see where Finnick is going with this.  Before they even walk another two feet, Sil is launching into more words as if she’s springing up from a platform and right into a new and rather one-sided conversation.

“Peeta, darling, I was just thinking that you and Katniss are really so different from each other – but that’s how love works, doesn’t it?  Oh your Games were so very romantic!  I swooned you know, I really did, especially during the cave scene – so scandalous,” she whispers with a wink and a smirk, and continues on without even pausing for a breath.  “Anyhow gracious, you look so very good together, don’t they Finnick darling?  You know Peeta, the four of us might just be the two most famous couples in all Panem.  Isn’t that just wonderful?  We should really do a double date, don’t you agree Finnick my love – oh, Peeta, I only just heard the other day that you – “

The rest of her words are drowned out by the crowd as Finnick and Katniss get separated by the crowd.  Both of them look rather relieved about that, though they feel distinctly sorry for Peeta, who is unable to politely remove himself from Sil’s constant blathering.

 _“That’s_ the woman you’re dating?” Katniss asks incredulously as they go and join the other Victors at the bar. 

Finnick chuckles and tells her, “She’s not just some random woman, Katniss.  That’s Silver Lamprey Cornelius.  She’s a Victor from District 1.”

At this, Katniss looks up at him with a raised eyebrow, and he shrugs.  “I know, it’s hard to believe.  She’s a complete idiot, isn’t she?” 

“You’re insulting your own girlfriend?” Katniss mutters, though she doesn’t contradict him.  Sil really does seem like an idiot.  A very talkative, annoying idiot.

They reach the bar and Finnick slides into a stool and order two drinks for them.  Johanna’s already into her second beer.  Gloss and Cashmere are sitting to the side, always next to each other.  Haymitch is there too, probably for Katniss’s benefit.  He was their mentor after all, and he’s been attending their Victory Tour right alongside them. 

Finnick shrugs and tells Katniss, “She’s only my girlfriend because Snow wanted us to get together.  Truthfully, I think I’d rather date one of my clients.”  The words make Katniss choke on her drink, and Finnick laughs at the sight.  He winks, and the other Victors glance over at him with dry expressions.

“She can’t be that bad,” Katniss insists, though she’s starting to wonder if Sil actually can be that bad.  Johanna snorts and they all turn to glance over their shoulders at where Sil has pulled Peeta.  The poor man looks helplessly lost as Sil introduces him to countless people.  She’s smiling nonstop, so widely and brightly that her jaw must be sore. 

They all turn back and Johanna mutters, “Yeah.  She _can_ be that bad.  Has she started in with her pet names yet?  They drive me _insane.”_

Katniss clears her throat and hums.  Yeah, those pet names are definitely annoying, especially to someone as straightforward as Katniss.  She takes another sip of her drink and wonders, “Why is she so different from you guys?  She reminds me of my Capitol stylist.”  It can’t be because she’s from District 1.  Gloss and Cashmere are from 1 as well, and they seem as normal as any other Victor.

What makes Sil so different from the others?  No one seems to be able to answer.  They all just shake their heads and wave the halfhearted explanations away.  Sil is just… _Sil_.  There’s no reason to attempt to explain anything about her.  She’s just a silly socialite who lives for her parties and that’s that.  But Katniss wonders.  She’s been through the Games, so she must be as affected by them as the other Victors.  Yet something holds her back from expressing it – either Sil’s own adamancy at pushing it away, or something else.

Katniss gives Finnick a contemplative look and muses darkly, “No Victor could be that _happy_ around these people.”

Finnick glances down at her with a raised, perfectly poised eyebrow.  “What are you getting at, sweetheart?” he asks, and Katniss rolls her eyes at the pet name.

“I’m saying that it’s an act.  Obviously,” she says impatiently. 

But Finnick is already chuckling, and Cashmere from district 1 is already leaning forward to say, “You don’t know her like we do, Everdeen.  She’s completely stupid.  I personally think she’s lost her mind after her Games – if she had a mind to begin with that is.”

The thought intrigues Finnick enough to wonder, “What was she like before her Games?”  Surely out of anyone, Gloss or Cashmere would know the answer to that.  They’re from District 1 too, after all.

Cashmere shrugs and leans back like she’s through with this inane conversation.  She probably is.  Every conversation about Sil Cornelius is boring to her.  In a dry voice, Cashmere mutters, “How should I know?  District 1 is a huge city.”  And it isn’t as if she’s gotten to know Sil upon her becoming a Victor.  They all tend to shut themselves away in the homes in the Victor’s Village – a place that Sil doesn’t even frequent all that often.

But her brother Gloss suddenly chimes, “She went to a lot of parties.”  Cashmere gives him a weird look and he shrugs.  “What?  _You_ might not have noticed her, but I did.  She’s the richest girl in District 1.  And besides, she’s hot.”

No one questions Gloss’s attraction for rich, hot girls.  Instead they all turn to his previous words.  Sil partied a lot back then?  Well that’s not entirely surprising.  Finnick chuckles humorlessly and mutters, “So she’s always loved to party.  Anything else, while you’re at it?”

Gloss mumbles into his beer and then says in a louder voice, “I don’t know.  She was always holed up in her family’s estate when she wasn’t going to school.”  They look at him weirdly again and he raises his eyebrow, “What?  Ask her if you’re so interested.  I only know what I saw.”

Finnick glances over at Sil’s laughing figure.  School?  Well school is mandatory, regardless of where you’re from.  It’s just a little hard to imagine Sil sitting in a classroom taking notes.  It’s hard to imagine her in any type of educational setting.  He shakes his head and turns back to his glass, but he only has time for one sip before suddenly Sil is back at his side, leaning against the bar with a tired sigh.

“Dear me, I’m exhausted,” she says, and raises a hand to the bartender, “Pour me a shot, my love!” 

The bartender starts to pour her a pink-colored shot.  He slides it to Sil and she winks at him flirtatiously, lifting it up to her mouth.  But before she can down it, Finnick’s fingers are grasping the small glass and forcing it back onto the counter.  He replaces it with his beer instead, saying, “Do you want to get completely wasted?  Remember last time?”  The look in his eye makes Sil quietly annoyed, but she outwardly smiles anyway.

“Finnick darling, let me tell you a little secret,” she says, leaning into him.  Her hand slides onto his chest and, in reflex, Finnick’s fingers grasp her arm to keep her in place.  He hardly even realizes that he’s doing it.  In a mock whisper, Sil tells him, “I’ve only gotten drunk once.  Just once.”  That, at least, is the truth.

Just because she goes to hundreds of parties each year doesn’t mean she drinks herself into a stupor.  She’s got a job to do, after all.

Finnick doesn’t look like he believes her, but she doesn’t particularly care.  What does it matter if he believes her or not?  So she merely smiles demurely up at him, but takes his beer anyway.  She will not argue in public, especially over something as silly as alcohol.

She takes a sip, then her eyes widen and Sil looks up at Finnick.  Hastily, she puts the beer down and grins at him, “Finnick darling, this is my _favorite_ song – come dance with me!” 

He sighs and tells her immediately, “You don’t have to pretend around the other Victors, Sil.  They know it’s a fake relationship.”

She thinks it’s all rather amusing, how she always pretends around the Victors on a daily basis, but for other reasons.  She thinks that it is in fact the Victors they need to worry the most about.  She says none of this though, and merely allows her face to crumble into a pouty expression as she looks up at her ‘boyfriend’ or whatever the hell he is.

“Gracious, of course they do,” Sil says with a shrug, then pleads, “But I’ve never shared a dance with the famous Finnick Odair before.”  She winks up at him and he smirks humorlessly.  With a sigh he nods to the others, and holds out his arm for her.  She smiles up at him and together they walk to the dance floor.  The moment they stop to stand in the center of it, everybody in the party stops what they are doing to watch them. 

Finnick never dances with anyone at these parties.  Neither, for that matter, does Sil.  Perhaps that’s why it is so exciting to see them both dancing _together_. 

His hands slide to her waist, and then one lifts up to tangle with hers near their shoulders.  Sil drags her fingers onto his broad chest and looks up at him.  He is staring right back with that ever-present curiosity, and she smiles.  The music starts and so do they.

Together they move about the dance floor, twirling and lingering in an intimacy that looks genuine, but is in fact entirely fake.  Or is it?  As Finnick dips Sil carefully toward the floor, hands grasping her waist tightly, he wonders why dancing with her is so easy to do.  And as Sil twirls in his arms and is drawn forcefully back to his chest, she wonders why she likes it so much.

The song comes to a gentle close that forces them only inches apart.  The flourish of Sil’s final twist accidentally propels her much closer to Finnick than she means to be.  Suddenly they are staring at each other, eyes wide, breath intertwining, and the intimacy between them seems in that moment absolute.  That’s when they hear it.

It’s subtle, at first, those shifting words.  But like tiny waves rolling over each other to reach the shore, the words grow with added volume.  And Sil’s eyes widen even further when the Capitol citizens around them start to chant, “Kiss, kiss, kiss!”

Her eyes dart to Finnick’s.  He looks amused, but there is something dark in his eyes that hints toward other, less humorous emotions.  He bandies away his intimacy like coins in a fountain.  Why should he do the same for her?  Why should he pretend for her?  But despite his obvious (at least to her) unwillingness, Finnick doesn’t seem like he’s going to just walk away.  Anyone else would walk away and leave her humiliated on the dance floor.  But he only smiles lovingly down at her and murmurs, “Don’t look so horrified, sugar.” 

She’s aware that his loving tone is a lie.  She’s also aware that the kiss, when he presses it to her mouth, is also a lie.  But something inexplicable rises up inside her the moment his mouth touches hers.  Perhaps it is only the loud, crazy cheers of the people around them, but Sil feels like she’s suddenly on top of the world.

Finnick is a really, really good kisser.  This hardly comes as a surprise to her.  What does come as a surprise is the fact that he’s also very gentle.  At once the entire experience is ten times different from the rare hotel rooms she’d been forced to go to.  It is even more different compared to Felix’s hard affections, his grasping hands, his probing tongue.  Finnick does none of this.

It’s probably the most chaste kiss she’s ever received, actually, and yet it feels more intimate than any other.  It’s in the way he holds her, with his hands cupping her cheeks softly, his thumbs stroking her cheekbones.  It’s in the way he slowly moves his lips against hers, with a very gentle sacredness that Sil doesn’t really understand but can’t bother figuring it out at this moment.

She’s too busy leaning into him, cradled against his body as the cheers around them escalate into laughter and whistles.  Still he kisses her, as if she is the only woman he has ever loved and ever will love.  And it’s precisely that thought that makes Sil pull away.  Because Finnick probably kisses all his clients in this manner, with this fake adoration. 

Reality hits her right in the chest.  When she looks up at him, Finnick is smirking at her with a raised eyebrow, as if he is challenging her in some way.  The kiss had been as much a lie as their relationship.  She’d known this the moment his lips touched hers, yet something clouded it from her.  A sort of wishful thinking, perhaps?  A desire to be someone else to Finnick, someone who can more easily show her intelligence?

She decides that there is only one thing to do, and that is to meet the challenge in his eyes head-on.  Her mouth suddenly curls into a cruel smirk before very quickly morphing into a more pleasant, naïve smile.  Finnick sees the smirk.  He frowns at the sight of it and stares at her, at once feeling unsure.  But Sil only tilts her head back and laughs, loudly exclaiming, “My dears, you mustn’t ask that of me again!  I’m very shy you know, darlings!” 

As she speaks, Sil drags Finnick off the dance floor.  She leads them into a crowded group of Capitol gossipers.  The noise level over here is so loud one can hardly hear their own thoughts, and it is perfect for Sil to threaten her new fake lover with a well-placed remark.  She digs her nails into his arm and leans up to hiss, her expression curling back into that anger, “If you ever treat me like a client again, Finnick Odair, I will ensure that you have _so many clients_ you won’t be able to joke about it for the rest of your life.” 

Then she disappears from him, twirling back into the crowd with a smile on her face, as if she had never threatened him to begin with.  As if cruelty is as foreign to her as heartache or death.  But what Finnick doesn’t realize is that both of those things are in fact very familiar to Sil, only she hides it all beneath her simpering smiles and brainless laughter.

And Finnick merely stands there watching her departure with a blank, confused, and yes, _angry_ expression on his face.  How dare she speak to him about clients?  How dare she even use the word?  And how dare she act like getting him clients is her personal _job_ or something.

Of course he isn’t aware that it actually is her personal job.  He’s not aware of a great many things in that moment.  They are all just secrets waiting to be uncovered, problems waiting to be solved.  And he will find them all out, just as he will discover how Sil can be so happy one moment and so cruel the next.

 

* * *

 

 

Many hours later the party is still thriving.  The Victors have spread out, forced apart by Capitol enthusiasts and the unwilling knowledge that they have to socialize at least a little bit with their hordes of fans.  Sil and Finnick have hardly been together for more than a few minutes since the kiss – something that they are both happy for.  Unfortunately, nothing lasts forever, and soon Finnick is back at Sil’s side, forced there by a Capitol man’s comment on the strange wall between the two apparent lovers.

Sil is speaking to Peeta and Katniss on the other side of the room.  She’s got one hand wrapped loosely around a wine glass filled with neon green, glowing liquor.  The other hand is pressed on Peeta’s shoulder as she leans into the Star Crossed Lovers and gossips about some such thing.  Or at least that’s what Finnick assumes, because Sil only ever seems to talk about gossip and whatever silly trends are currently in fashion.  But when he dawdles towards them with a suave smile on his face, the nature of Sil’s conversation has absolutely nothing to do with fashion or whatever the Victors have been up to lately.

“You really must be careful though, my dears,” she’s saying in a soft voice.  Katniss actually looks semi-interested which is shocking in and of itself.  Peeta looks like he’s actually taking Sil’s words to heart, which is of course another shock.  Sil never says anything worthwhile…though, Finnick thinks, she apparently has a mean streak that he hadn’t known of before, at least if she could so easily threaten him without a second thought.

He carefully watches Sil’s expression, curious as to the serious quality of her eyes.  For once they are not sparkling theatrically.  Her voice is not dramatic or laughing.  Something seems to have cloaked the personality he knows her to have, and that is very fascinating indeed.  He hasn’t reached their sides yet and he slows his pace, wanting to hear what else she’s got to say before he swoops in and makes her pretend all over again.

“People here can be nasty,” she’s murmuring, “and Snow doesn’t like what you’ve done.  You must prepare yourselves for the consequences.  Luckily you always have a shopping friend if you need one, Katniss darling!” 

The end of her sentence makes Katniss abruptly lose her interest and she scowls.  Peeta indulges Sil with a smile that looks a little bit hesitant, like he isn’t entirely sure what to think of her.

That’s when Finnick slides into the conversation with a quipped, “Sil knows all the best places to shop, don’t you sugar?”  His tone is carefully blank, showing just the smallest touch of the fake adoration he’s so good at conjuring.  Sil glances at him with a beaming smile that he could almost fall for – would have fallen for, had it not been for her cruel threat only hours before.  He stares at her silently like he’s trying to work out what on earth goes through that brainless head of hers, and then seems to decide that it isn’t worth it.  Sil never is.

“It’s so very true, I am very good at shopping,” she giggles, and then adds, “It really should have been my Talent you know.”  This makes Peeta intrigued.

“What is your Talent, Sil?” he wonders, and she shrugs daintily. 

She helps herself to the little napkin of sweets Finnick’s brought over.  As she pops a square of liquored chocolate into her mouth, Sil demurely tells him, “Socializing, my dear, is what I’m dreadfully good at.”

Finnick doesn’t remember hearing this before, though he’s sure he has.  He knows all the other Victor’s Talents and he must have known hers too.  But tonight, after all that’s happened during the course of the last few weeks between Sil and himself, Finnick finds it all rather amusing.

He laughs and indulgently says, “She’s so good at it, isn’t she?  Apparently she’s always loved parties even before her Games, haven’t you Sil?  I heard from Cashmere that you used to party all the time back in District 1.”

He expects her to quip something back, as she normally would.  He expects her to laugh his words away as usual and change the course of the conversation like she’s so good at doing.  What he doesn’t expect is silence, but that’s what he receives.  He looks down at her with a raised eyebrow and is shocked to find that her expression is a little uncomfortable.  It lasts only a moment, though, and then Sil just waves away his words and murmurs, “Dear me, I’m not used to being on the receiving end of such rumors.”  And she says no more on the subject.

Something crackles between them.  He’s been noticing it since their kiss and her threat.  It isn’t an emotion he’s familiar with, but he can feel it escalating and building whenever they are in close proximity to each other.  Sil looks uncomfortable now for another reason – because she is right next to Finnick. 

She isn’t used to the emotions he makes her feel.  There’s a little part of her that is guilty about what she’d said to him before.  She has no right talking to him about his clients and yet she had, simply because of her own outrage at being treated in such a way.  But what does she expect, when she practically asks people to treat her like that?  When she wants to be overlooked so as to hide her real purposes here in the Capitol?  She doesn’t have time to think on it.  She suddenly doesn’t have any time whatsoever, because that’s when her name is being called, except the voice who calls it isn’t anyone she wants to see. 

“Silver!” she hears, and pales.  It’s a low, gravelly tone, fierce and always angry, always ready to make her life hellish and to take her humanity away from her and keep it for himself.

Finnick stiffens too.  He swings around to look for the voice that sounds oddly familiar to him, and when he sees the man walking toward them he nearly growls.  It’s the man who had shoved Sil against the wall and tried to bring her to his room against her permission.  And he looks angry.

Finnick snakes his hand around Sil’s arm and turns to Katniss and Peeta.  “We’ve got to go.  See you two later, don’t get into any trouble without me!” he quickly says, flashing them a smirk that doesn’t reach his eyes.  Then he drags Sil away into the crowd, dodging citizens and easily losing the man in his hasty maneuvering.  Sil doesn’t complain.  She just blindly lets herself be dragged behind him, clenching her hand tightly around her confident savior.

They end up in the elevator.  Finnick drags her in behind him and hurriedly presses the button for the ground floor.  Sil collapses against the wall with a drawn expression and silence converges upon them.  He doesn’t look at her.  He doesn’t know what he’s even doing, actually, or why he saved her to begin with. 

After another beat of long silence, they both open their mouths at the same time.  Finnick starts to say, “That man – “  at the same time that Sil blurts, “I’m so sorry, Finnick.”  Silence falls again, this time surprised and confused.  He looks at her.

Sil’s eyes are closed.  Her hands are twisting in front of her and her face is pale and colorless.  When he doesn’t say anything, Sil quietly murmurs, “I should never have said that to you.  I’m sorry.  It was completely out of line.”  It takes him an extra second to realize that she’s actually talking about her threatening words from hours before, and he exhales.

With a sigh, Finnick leans against the wall beside her and lightly admits, “It was wrong of me to kiss you like that too.  How about a truce?”  And he holds out his hand for her to shake.

She smiles a watery smile and reaches for it, grasping it tightly and giving it a solid shake that reminds him more of a soldier than a socialite.  But he doesn’t think of that now, and when she goes to drag her hand back he doesn’t let her.  Instead Finnick just clasps that slender hand between the both of his and turns to her.

“About that man…” he begins with a frown, studying her carefully.  The mention of the man makes her shakily exhale and drop her eyes from his.  For some reason he doesn’t like that.  He likes looking into those eyes of hers, likes watching the strength of them counteract whatever silly thoughts she has.  Clenching his fingers comfortingly around hers, Finnick murmurs, “Who is he to you?”

The words are slow, hesitant.  He knows it isn’t his place, but so many lines have been crossed this evening, and Sil only sighs.

“That was Felix,” she tells him honestly.  “He’s a high ranking general in the Peacekeeper army…and Snow’s personal lapdog.”  The mention of Snow makes Finnick’s jaw tighten.  So there is more to this story than meets the eye.  That much is obvious.  Wherever Snow is involved, there’s always more.

“…I see,” he says, though he doesn’t really understand.  All he knows is that this Felix is someone Sil wants to avoid, and rightfully so.  He pauses, then asks, “And what does he want with you?” 

Some part of him already knows the answer.  A big part of him actually.  He’s used to the dirty underside of the Capitol.  He knows the expression on Felix’s face when he called out Sil’s name.  So it doesn’t come as a surprise to him when Sil mutters, “Most likely to continue where we left off before.”  Before, when he had pushed her into the wall and tried to hike her skirts up. 

Finnick nods slowly, staring down at her with serious eyes.  He has never seen Sil look like this before.  There is fear in her eyes.  Fear makes her body shake into the wall.  And something protective rises up within him at the sight of it, something as foreign to him as the feeling of real love.  Perhaps that is why he says a moment later, “Well come on then.  I’ll take you to my apartment.”  The elevator doors swing open and he grasps Sil’s wrist to pull her out before she can say anything.

“Whatever are you talking about?” she asks in surprise, eyebrows high. 

Finnick glances down at her with a smirk and shrugs, “You’re my girlfriend, aren’t you?  Snow can hardly get angry if we hang out together in my apartment.  And besides,” he adds with a wave of his hand, “Felix will never look for you there.”  She’ll be safe with him.

Sil stares up at him in shock.  She looks like she wants to say something to him, but Finnick doesn’t let her.  He merely drags her behind him, hurries out of the building, and throws open the doors of a nearby taxi.  The moment he slides into the leather seats, he confidently tells the driver, “37th street,” then rattles off the name of his apartment complex and shuts the door.

Sil can only sit there next to him in blank shock and wonder what the hell just happened.

 


	6. Might catch a ship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really glad people seem to like this story! Thank you again for your reviews, they inspire me! This chapter introduces a Scarlet Pimpernel plot twist that you might recognize if you've read the book or watched one of the movie adaptations. If anyone is interested and hasn't watched it, I recommend the 1982 version. It's my favorite ;)

**Chapter Six | Might catch a ship**

_“Why she wished to get closer to him, she could not have said.  Perhaps she was impelled by an all-powerful fatality, which so often seems to rule the destinies of men.”  Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

Finnick’s apartment is as different from hers as night is from day.  Where Sil’s is gaudy and overly luxurious, Finnick’s style is subdued and almost soulless, as if anyone could have lived there.  The last time she’s been here had been weeks ago, and she had been in such a hurry to get out of it that Sil hadn’t taken much time to look around.   But now that is all she can do, because it feels too awkward to look anywhere near Finnick.

He lets her inside and tosses his keys onto a nearby table.  Sil watches him for as long as his back is turned and then averts her eyes the moment they meet his.  She’s uncomfortable, both because she’s never been inside another Victor’s apartment, and also because of the manner in which she has been invited.  She doesn’t need Finnick’s protection from Felix, but she can’t deny that she likes having it, regardless of how deep his concern actually goes.

“You know where everything is,” Finnick says with a quirked smile, like he’s dryly amused.  She nods and smiles back, but it’s fleeting and awkward and quickly falls from her face.  She knows that his words are his way of telling her to make herself at home, but Sil doesn’t know where to begin.  She stands there in the center of the hallway, surrounded by all his subtle décor, and clears her throat. 

This is highly unlike her.  Or at least her Capitol persona.  The Sil that Finnick knows should be bouncing up and down and smiling at all times, but he doesn’t seem concerned at her lack of upbeat laughter.  He only smiles at her softly and walks over into his kitchen, which veers off from the hallway and tapers together like two puzzle pieces.

“Want a drink?” he asks, despite the fact that she’s already had quite a few tonight.  But something in the air seems to call for it, and when she nods Finnick doesn’t see a problem with pouring her another. 

“I’ve got wine, brandy, tequila…huh, I must’ve finished the tequila, sorry.  Wine or brandy?” he asks, riffling through a low cabinet.  His voice is slightly muffled as he leans down to assess the state of his liquor.  His head is partially hidden from view and Sil studies the rest of his body, because he’s probably the most interesting thing in the room and definitely not subtle like the rest of it.

“…Brandy,” she tells him after a short moment of consideration.  The wine would be easier on her already buzzing head, but she longs for something stronger.  Something that might dull both the awkwardness between them and the desperation that seeing Felix brings.

He doesn’t question her choice and merely pours her a glass.  He pours himself one too, and as he twists the cap back on the bottle, he nods over to the kitchen chairs.  “Wanna sit down?  Those heels look treacherous.”  This makes her smile a little more genuinely.

They are treacherous, just like the rest of her at this moment.  The teetering quality of her emotions only makes it that much worse.  She folds herself down onto a barstool and Finnick follows suit, handing her the brandy as he does. 

“A toast?” he inquires, and hardly waits for her to agree before he’s smoothly declaring, “To secrets,” and then clicking his glass against the edge of hers with a wink. 

Sil smiles wryly at him and shrugs, “To secrets then.”  She tips the glass back and takes a sip.  The burn of the alcohol stings her throat.  She swallows it gratefully, pleased that the burn lingers there like all the rest of her untold secrets…secrets that Finnick seems all too interested in.

As he sets his glass back down, he gives her a sideways glance.  She flounders in her seat and avoids his eyes by taking another sip.  She waits for the telltale questions that she knows are coming, and he does not disappoint.

“Speaking about secrets…” he begins, quirking an eyebrow at her, “you seem to have quite a few of them that I didn’t know about.”  He speaks as if now, he does know them, perhaps even all of them.  Like he thinks he knows everything there is to know about her.  She raises an eyebrow in return and shrugs daintily.

“They aren’t secrets,” she tells him, “they’re only things you didn’t think to ask me about before.”

It’s partially true.  The secrets he’s referring to are things that he hadn’t considered she dealt with.  Things he’d never before thought to ask her about because before a few weeks ago, he’s never had the inclination to speak to her at all.  But now that he knows her better, these so-called ‘secrets’ are things that interest him a great deal.  The familiar craving for knowledge hits him hard, but this time it isn’t coupled with the desire to control or manipulate for his own purposes.  This time, the secrets he wants to know about are Sil’s, a fellow Victor, and there is only the strange feeling of protection that rises up within him at the thought of the hardships he hadn’t known she has.

Finnick accepts her words graciously.  She’s right of course.  He isn’t sure why he’s never really spoken to her before despite her status as Victor.  He’s aware that all Victors have some hardships.  All Victors are susceptible to Snow’s manipulations.  But Sil…she’s always seemed to transcend that darkness.  She’s always seemed to consider herself to be above the other Victors.  He’s only now beginning to realize that this is only a mask.  She’s still the stupid Victor he’s always thought she was, but now he’s aware that she’s not naïve.  She knows all about manipulation and hatred.  He’d seen it in her eye when Felix had started toward them at the party.

Whatever prejudice he’s felt for her in the past, Finnick pushes aside now.  Here in this conversation, there is no room for it.  And so Finnick only sighs and murmurs, “You’re right.”  And Sil looks up at him in surprise.

She’s right?  She’s never heard a Victor say that to her before.  Actually, Victors rarely say anything to her unless they’re forced to.  She knows that they don’t think highly of her.  She also knows that Finnick doesn’t, either.  Yet something in the tone of his voice makes her wonder if perhaps that perspective is changing.

“Am I?” she wonders, musing over his words with a trickling laugh that doesn’t reach her eyes.  Finnick notices the dullness in them and sighs again.

“Yes, you are,” he says insistently.  “I know we – _I_ – have never really given you a second thought since you became Victor.  I’ve always just assumed that since you _acted_ like a Capitolite, you _were_ one.  I still don’t know what to think of you but I have a feeling that you hate the Capitol as much as any other Victor.”

She openly gapes at him.  Those words are the most honest ones she’s ever heard.  She’s so used to dealing in deceit, in lies, that hearing such honesty sounds foreign.  Especially coming from Finnick Odair, who also deals in secrets and all things unmentionable.

She doesn’t know what to say, so she just remains silent.  Finnick seems fine with her silence.  He gives her a quirky smile and shrugs, “Let’s be truthful with each other from now on.”  He pauses, looks into his brandy, and then in a slower voice wonders, “You don’t have to tell me, but does Felix often…?” 

_Take advantage of you._ The words are quiet screams that Sil can easily hear, though Finnick doesn’t say them aloud.

She laughs bitterly and mutters, “Every Victor is taken advantage of in some way, Finnick.  I might not frequent hotel rooms like you do, but that doesn’t mean I’m exempt from the shame of being used.”  If that doesn’t answer his question, nothing will.

He nods, looking shameful now for another reason.  How could he have so easily pushed away Sil’s pain?  All these years of being around her, and never once did Finnick think that she suffered.  And maybe he doesn’t fully understand her particular form of suffering, but he does know that he understands it a little better now.  Now that he’s witnessed Felix’s manhandling of her – and the way she’s obviously afraid of the Capitol man.

Sil downs the rest of her brandy and silence serenades throughout the room.  It’s odd, having her in his apartment like this.  Like friends, almost.  He’s never thought such a thing would ever happen, that he would actually become friends with her.  But here they are, sharing drinks and secrets as if this is totally normal.  He finds that he actually likes it. 

“I don’t usually have company,” he tells her just to dissipate the silence between them.  She looks a little surprised to hear this, probably because of his Talent and what goes on beneath the surface of it.  His forced prostitution makes him susceptible to all sorts of company, after all. 

He chuckles at her expression and waves his hand, “Not here in this apartment.  I never bring anyone here.  It’s _my_ space.  The only place in the Capitol that I can be myself.  Just Finnick.”

Not the sociable, laughing, suave Finnick that he portrays to everyone else.  Not the man who is everybody’s lover but nobody’s love.  Here he is only the broken man that the Games have made him, and there is no pretending on his part.  There is nothing at all.

Sil stares into her brandy and murmurs softly, “And yet you’ve brought me here.”  Strange, she thinks, that he would offer her the sanctuary that he keeps only for himself.  She’s the closest thing to a Capitolite without actually being one, and yet here she is.  He thinks it’s strange too, but then again everything about Sil is strange.  And everything he feels about her confuses him.

He smiles lopsidedly and tells her, “We’re the same, you and I.  I’ve just never realized it before.”

“Hmm,” she sounds, neither an agreement nor a denial.  Perhaps they are the same, in some grand way, and yet the differences between them seem so distant that it is impossible to breach them.  How can two people be so similar and yet so far apart? 

“So…what now?” she asks, glancing over at him.  She’s surprised to find that he is already looking back at her, assessing her in a way only he can do.  His light eyes are like mirrors that reflect her, and together they sit at the countertop like two twisted souls abound in a universe of ‘what-ifs’. 

Finnick sighs and shrugs, managing somehow to look as charming here as he does everywhere else.  She wonders, vaguely, if that charm comes naturally to him or if it is only a mask like the one she wears.  A mask that has become so normal that he hardly even realizes he’s wearing it. 

“Well,” he muses, turning his gaze to stare sightlessly at the sleek cherry cabinets that line the kitchen walls.  “I guess we’ll continue this relationship until Snow tells us to call it off.  And in the meantime, we’ll keep going to parties together and get to know each other.  How ‘bout it?” 

The question is as hesitant as the rest of him, probably because he isn’t sure if he really wants to get to know her.  Which is fine, really, because she doesn’t want him to get to know her either.  Too many secrets separate them, building walls out of their silences.  He cannot know that she is a part of the rebellion.  No one can know.  Letting him get close to her will threaten those delicate secrets and place her position into jeopardy.  But if he were to also join the rebellion…

Finnick Odair has as much reason to do so as any other Victor, if not more.  Perhaps they really are more similar than Sil would like to believe.  She studies his profile with softly calculating eyes that he doesn’t notice, and slowly agrees, “Yes, I suppose that would be for the best.  We hardly have any other choice, do we?”  Snow is forcing their every move after all.  A fake relationship is the least of their worries.

He nods and sends her a suave smile that makes his eyes sparkle boyishly.  He really is one of the most attractive men Sil has ever met.  He’s also the most broken.  His life since he became a Victor has been nothing but hell, forced to prostitute himself to the whims of the Capitol.  If Plutarch was to speak with him…convince him that joining the rebellion would be good for everyone…well, Finnick would make a very valuable asset to District 13. 

But she cannot get ahead of herself.  For all she knows, Finnick wouldn’t go for it.  They all have people back in their home districts.  People they care for.  Family and friends who would be punished if word of the rebellion spread.  Finnick would either adamantly agree to joining, or he would never go for it at all because of his need to protect those in District 4.  She pushes her lips together thoughtfully, wondering yet again as to where his loyalties lie.

“You said you wanted to see District 4,” Finnick suddenly blurts out, and turns to her quickly with an expression of dawning idealism.  Taken aback, Sil slowly nods, then frowns because surely he can’t be thinking that going on a trip would be good for them?  Sil is needed in the Capitol, both by Snow and Coin.  But Finnick doesn’t seem to see her hesitance.  He merely smiles and nods, “Let’s go there for a week.  I’ll show you around.  We can go to that secret little shack I told you about.”

She stares at him and pauses, opens her mouth, shuts it again.  Go on a trip?  With Finnick Odair?  A romantic trip?  Because surely that would be the nature of it, or at least on the surface.  Would Snow even allow it?

“…I…Finnick, I don’t think – “ she begins, but she’s coming to realize that once Finnick has an idea in his head, he doesn’t let it go so easily.

“Come on, Silver,” he says, dragging her full name out playfully, “Snow’s making us date, so we might as well give the Capitol something to fawn over.  And what’s more romantic than a trip to our hometowns?”

Now she really stares, because of one reason.  He said hometowns.  Which means Finnick wants to visit District 1 too?  She leans forward and hurriedly says, “Are you saying you want to – “

“Go to District 4 for a week, then stop at District 1 on our way back to the Capitol,” Finnick cuts in, finishing her sentence with an ease that doesn’t sit so well with her.  She swallows thickly and clears her throat, trying to revert back to her mask of shameless idiocy.  She isn’t sure if she succeeds.

She can’t let Finnick come to District 1.  She can’t let him see her mansion, or meet her father.  There are things there…things that could be dangerous if he sees them.  And her father…Gemma Lamprey Cornelius may not have the same wit that he’d had in his youth, but he knows Sil’s other side.  Her more rebellious, smart, cunning side.  A side that she has tried extremely hard to hide away here in the Capitol.  She cannot let Finnick see into that part of her.

But she is Silver Lamprey Cornelius.  She has succeeded where no other spy has.  She has sent countless prisoners to District 13 without being caught.  She is a silly little socialite without any obvious reason for being a part of the rebellion.  And the Sil Cornelius that Finnick knows would never pass up the opportunity to have fun.  Going to District 4 would definitely be fun.

A smile wraps itself around her lips, though inside she is scowling.  Her expression is outwardly eager, morphing into an excitement that looks natural on her.  Finnick smiles back and she tells him, “Perhaps it would be fun.  I would like to see the ocean.”  Apparently, this is the right thing to say.

Finnick immediately launches into a description of the ocean in the sunlight, the way the sun hits it and it explodes into a mirage of delicate beams all splintering off into different directions.  She leans forward and listens raptly, but inside she is wondering what will happen in District 1.  What will she say?  How will she act toward her father?  And does Finnick really want to get to know her, or is he just fishing for more of her secrets – secrets he must know she has.  Can she trust him?

That is a question that spins round and round in her head all night, even as she sleeps in his bed and inhales the scent of his musk-and-ocean cologne and listens to his breathing in the other room.  It is a question that will continue to torment her for many months to come, until it becomes the very backbone of the symphony that will mark the relationship between their two souls.

* * *

 

On that very same night, in that very same hour, there is more taking place in the Capitol.  Specifically within President Snow’s office.

“I want you to double security,” Snow growls, slamming down a recent report that has not yet gotten out to the news.  Felix stands in front of the desk, looking far more humbled than ever before as he wrings his hands in front of him and takes the full brunt of his president’s anger.  It is justified.  Prison breaks are not taken lightly, especially not when they are orchestrated by none other than the Sterling Nightingale himself.

“How did this happen?” Snow demands, turning to spear Felix with a furious eye.  His fury is dampened, though – constrained by a consistent expression of calmness that always surrounds the man.  He knows by now that gaining control of any situation requires a level head.  So he keeps his anger tightly bound, but Felix can see the presence of it in Snow’s eyes as they hold him in place.

Swallowing thickly, Felix says, “We’re still looking into it, sir.  None of the surveillance cameras were tampered with.  We suspect that someone on the inside acted as an agent to smuggle the prisoner out.”

The explanation doesn’t seem to help matters.  If anything, his words only make Snow that much angrier.

Standing up to tower over his subordinate, the President of Panem darkly murmurs, “The Helloise’s last week, and now this?  How many rebels do you intend on letting slip through your fingers, Felix?”  Felix opens his mouth to give an adamant reply, but Snow cuts in with a clipped, “This spy who calls himself the Sterling Nightingale – I want him disposed of.”

Felix in of the mind to agree wholeheartedly.  The anonymous spy has made his own life more difficult than need be.  The president has already been breathing down his neck about the Helloise’s escape, and now his anger has increased tenfold with the disappearance of yet another prisoner.  The Helloise’s were supposed to be easy targets.  Felix had been on his way to arrest them the very night they escaped.  They had been spreading malicious rumors about President Snow.  Clearly, not all citizens of the Capitol are as loyal as the rest of the districts like to believe.  He would have gotten them, too, except – that damned spy had smuggled them out first, right under all their noses.

Frankly, his antics are getting very stale.  Especially since Felix has been denied a promotion several times since the Nightingale began his frustrating line of work a few years before.

“…I want him gone as much as you do, sir, but we have no leads save this scrap of paper he always leaves behind,” Felix informs him, gesturing to the little piece of paper that had been included in the report Snow had just read.  It is an unassuming little note about two inches wide, with a single device scrawled in ink upon its surface: a swooping black nightingale in mid-flight.

Snow reaches for the note and lifts it up, eyeing the brazen bird with a hard gaze.  The spy is certainly audacious, to leave behind such a thing.  The scraps of paper are always left at the scene, somewhere on the premise.  They are always precisely drawn in the same manner each time, with an ink that can be bought anywhere in Panem.  Snow has sent each note in to be analyzed for finger prints or other clues, but so far, nothing has been found.  The spy knows what he’s doing, at least.

He seems to know a great many things, in fact.  He’d known about the Helloise’s in advance.  He must have known that they were to be arrested.  As for most of the other prisoners that have been smuggled out of the Capitol, the spy had been able to plan for everything to the last detail, as if he had inside information regarding their location.  Information that could only be gotten if the man knew someone on the inside.

Snow heaves a sigh, gritting his teeth as he slices his eyes over to Felix’s figure.  “The man must be a Capitolite, and he has others working with him.  He has connections, otherwise he wouldn’t have known that the Helloise’s were to be arrested.  I’m positive that he’s a part of high society.”

The reasoning makes Felix pause, thinking on this.  Snow seems fairly confident that the Sterling Nightingale is a part of the higher circles of the elite, and it makes sense.  How else could the spy have all the information he does?  How else could he succeed in disguising himself so easily, and have so many methods in which to keep himself hidden?  He is clearly very familiar with the Capitol and the way it operates.

Haltingly, Felix murmurs, “Then we start screening people.  Look into their pasts and their connections.  Nothing else has worked – “

“No,” Snow interrupts, sitting back down with a thoughtful expression.  He rubs his jaw idly, looking out the window with a contemplative air, and slowly says, “We need someone who can identify the spy for us.  Someone that the Nightingale would trust.  Someone who is already a part of the elite circles.”

Felix looks confused.  He asks, “…Who?”

The question makes Snow chuckle.  He glances over at the man standing in front of his desk, who had until recently been a quaking mess of fear at being on the receiving end of his glare.  Felix is something of a coward, but he has his uses yet.

With a cold smile, Snow responds, “A Victor, Felix.  We need a Victor.”

Understanding dawns on Felix’s face.  He seems to know where his president is going with this when he says, “Yes – the Nightingale would trust a Victor.  But none of them would willingly help us.  They’d sooner join the Nightingale’s little band of followers.”

He’s right, of course.  Snow is very careful with his Victors.  Together, they create a force to be reckoned with.  That’s why he does his best to manipulate them into silence.  Scaring them into subordination is much easier than dealing with their loose loyalties to the Capitol, and manipulation is something he happens to be very good at.

“True,” Snow agrees, nodding at Felix as if he’s impressed by the man’s thinking.  The absence of his anger makes Felix stand up a little taller.  “But with the right ultimatum, I’m sure I can buy their loyalty,” he finishes, and then says, “Have Mr. Odair come see me tomorrow, Felix.  I have a few things I’d like to speak with him about.”

The sudden order makes Felix raise his eyebrows.  “Finnick Odair?  Surely he isn’t the best choice – “

“He knows half the Capitol by now, and since he’s started dating Miss Cornelius, our own little socialite, he’s the perfect candidate to hunt down our elusive problem.”  Snow smiles coldly at the man, and adds, “We might as well make use of our resources, don’t you agree?”

The smile that Felix returns him with is just as cold.  In the Capitol’s eyes, Victors are meant to be used, after all, and what better person to do their dirty work than the Capitol Daydream himself?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here ya go ;)


	7. In the center of the sea,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Snow has a 'project' for Finnick, Finnick manages to get Sil on a train to District 4, Sil ends up in the ocean, and Finnick is slightly confused as to why he thinks her excitement is so enchanting.
> 
> Yes, this chapter isn't being posted on a Tuesday! I have quite a few chapters edited and ready to post, so I'll be updating twice a week for the time being while I continue working through the editing process. As I said before, the story is completely finished, but there's a lot of editing I want to do with it.
> 
> The next update will be on Tuesday

 

**Chapter Seven | In the center of the sea**

 

  _“Had anyone told her a week ago that she would stoop to spy upon her friends, that she would betray a brave and unsuspecting man into the hands of a relentless enemy, she would have laughed the idea to scorn.”  Emma Orczy, the Scarlet Pimpernel_

 

A week goes by before Finnick is able to get Snow’s permission for their little rendezvous.  Sil suspects that Finnick is spending much of this time working as many clients as Snow throws at him, probably to make up for the two week ‘vacation’.  She assumes that this is the primary reason that it takes them an entire week to work out the details, but she isn’t entirely correct.  The truth of the matter is that Snow has something else in mind for Finnick, which he finds out about only a day after his initial suggestion.

“Ah, Mr. Odair, please come in,” President Snow says when he sees the Victor at the door of his office.  His voice is welcoming, as if he’s just invited Finnick over for a cup of tea and a heartfelt discussion.  Finnick isn’t fooled, of course.  Nothing Snow does is heartfelt – unless it’s murdering 23 children each year for the sole purpose of keeping order among the districts. 

“You wanted to see me, sir?” Finnick asks, donning his own welcoming tone.  His voice is as smooth as ever, with no indication that he is afraid or wary about being invited to speak with the man who has made his life into a living hell.

Snow smiles blandly at his show of confidence and gestures for him to sit down.  Once Finnick does, Snow asks, “How is your new relationship going?  I hope Miss Cornelius is agreeable?”

Finnick pauses.  Agreeable isn’t quite the word he would use to describe Silver Lamprey Cornelius, but it will suffice for now.  He knows better than to complain.

“She’s agreeable enough,” he responds, emphasizing the word as if he’s amused at the mere idea.  He supposes that Sil isn’t _disagreeable_.  He’s gotten to know her better in the last couple of weeks since they’ve started ‘dating’, and she isn’t _quite_ as aggravating as he remembers assuming her to be. 

Snow chuckles, “Yes, she is quite a character, isn’t she?  Still, she has her uses, and so do you, Finnick.”

The round-about words make Finnick raise an eyebrow and inquire, “Sir?”

The president’s indulgent smile fades away.  He stares at Finnick for a long moment, which naturally makes Finnick distinctly uncomfortable.  Has he done something wrong?  He can’t think of anything that would upset President Snow.

It isn’t anything he’s done though, which he discovers when Snow picks up a piece of paper on his desk and hands it to him.  It’s a tiny square with a symbol blazing over it.  A swooping bird.  He thinks he’s seen it before but he can’t quite remember where, only he knows that it looks very familiar.  He stares at it in silence, studying the harsh lines of black ink on the crisp white paper.

“You are familiar with the Sterling Nightingale, I presume?” Snow asks, leaning back in his chair.  While Finnick studies the paper, Snow studies him.

The Victor looks up in surprise, then back down at the paper with a new understanding.  “Ah…the Nightingale.  We’ve all heard of him.”

Everyone in Panem has heard of the Sterling Nightingale.  The Capitol tries it’s best to keep stories of the daring spy out of the news, but sometimes tales of his audacious exploits leak through to the public.  The brazen way the man has smuggled prisoners right out of the Capitol prisons has been something of a fairytale to most of Panem.  The Nightingale has subsequently become a hero, and not just to the outlying districts.  The Capitol is constantly buzzing about his latest antics.  They simply cannot help but romanticize the man to his fullest potential, turning him from a traitor to their city into a daring, courageous rebel – though no one speaks of their praise lest they get punished for the supposed error of their loyalty. 

Still, he has heard of the man before.  Had Finnick still been a boy, he would have marveled at the stories with great idealism.  As a man, Finnick has more mixed emotions.  He thinks the spy is the most daring person alive, to risk his life day after day for people he doesn’t even know.  There is something to be admired about someone who is willing to save innocent lives at the risk of their own.  Yet there is something also foolhardy about the spy’s actions.  The man is very bold, especially in leaving behind these little notes, as if he is laughing at the Capitol with every stroke of success.

Snow purses his mouth and says tightly, “The spy has been a problem for years now.  Luckily, I’ve found someone who can help seek him out for me.”

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who Snow has in mind.  Finnick stares at him in shocked silence and says, “You want _me_ to hunt down the Nightingale?  What makes you think I’d be of any help?”

He wouldn’t even know where to start!  The Sterling Nightingale could be anyone.  They say that the spy has a million faces.  That his disguises are absolute.  That’s why he’s been able to successfully smuggle people out of the Capitol all this time.  No one knows who he’ll turn up as next.

President Snow raises an eyebrow at him and explains, “I believe that the Nightingale is one of the elite here in the Capitol.  He’ll be at all of the high-ranking parties and gatherings.  Because of your new…alignment with Miss Cornelius, you’re in the perfect social position to find out who he is.”

Finnick stares at him in surprise and says, “How would I narrow it down?”

“You know many people here, Finnick.  I’m sure you’ll be able to find a way,” Snow responds, eyeing the Victor shrewdly.  “I don’t suppose I need to warn you of the repercussions, should you inform anyone of this…favor you’re doing the Capitol?”

Stiffening at the threat in the president’s voice, Finnick swallows and replies, “No, you don’t.”

Snow smiles in that mock welcoming manner and nods.  “Good,” he says, and waves his hand at Finnick in a seemingly dismissive way.  But Finnick doesn’t get up, and Snow raises an eyebrow at him.  “Do you have something else to add, Finnick?”

Finnick pauses.  Then he asks, “Since I’m here…I was hoping you might agree to me taking Silver back to District 4 for a week, and then allowing us to visit District 1 on our way back to the Capitol.  We thought it would help make the relationship more convincing.”

President Snow’s expression turns thoughtful.  He studies the Victor closely, as if searching for some hint of insubordination or trickery.  Apparently finding none, he responds, “I could perhaps be convinced.  This isn’t a request I take lightly, of course.”

Finnick straightens and nods, “Of course.”

After a long moment of consideration, Snow says, “You may go, as long as you begin your search the first moment you return.”

And, realizing that this is the best offer he’ll get, Finnick reluctantly agrees.  Reluctantly, because the thought of being the one to discover the identity of the Sterling Nightingale, only to be forced to turn the hero in, is something that chills him to the bone. 

 

* * *

 

Sil is happy for the extra time she receives before Finnick drags her over to District 4.  Though the trip should by all accounts be as relaxing as any vacation, it is most decidedly less so for Sil.  During the next few days before their scheduled departure, Sil does what she does best: plan.

She plans everything.  She picks out every outfit, taking care in picking only the best.  She’s sure that there will be paparazzi following their every move.  Just because they won’t be in the Capitol doesn’t mean they won’t be in the public eye, and she has to keep her guard up at all times.  So she ensures that everything she packs is as trivial and silly as what her alter ego would pack – right down to the slippers and silk stockings and four inch heels.  This is, after all, supposed to be a romantic getaway.

She doesn’t merely plan her wardrobe, though.  She sends her father a message to tell him of her upcoming visit and to ask that he has a room arranged for Finnick to stay in.  She prepares every possibility in her mind, every outcome that may occur, every word that she will say upon arriving.  She thinks long and hard about how she will handle her father.  She spends every spare minute thinking of outings that will pull Finnick away from her home and the secrets that every corner holds.

When the day finally comes for them to depart, Sil dresses extravagantly in a white silk sundress that juts down to her ankles and navy blue pumps.  She twists her hair up into an elegant style and dons a fedora to top it all off.  She pushes special contacts into her eyes – a gift from Mr. Dorsey’s technological collection that he smuggles in from 13.  They have heat detector capabilities that she’s been taking advantage of from the moment she first used them several years prior.  When everything is all set, she waits, double checks her bag, triple checks her plans, and doesn’t rest until Finnick knocks on the door at nine o’clock in the morning.

“All ready to go?” he asks when she greets him.  His eyes casually dip over her outfit and she flirtatiously smiles at him.  They both know it’s all fake – his attention and her smile – but it’s the game they must play.  A game that Finnick doesn’t seem to mind all that much anyhow.  On the surface, at least.

“Darling, you’re ten minutes late,” she says with a breezy sigh, as if she’s quietly disappointed in him.  But it’s clear that she isn’t, that she’s only being dramatic, and Finnick shrugs as he enters her apartment.

“I was thinking we could run through the train station holding hands and jump onto the train just as it’s pulling out.  Very romantic,” he jokes at her, and she rolls her eyes.  Sometimes she wonders who’s more dramatic of the two.

“Gracious!” Sil exclaims at his words.  “Do you know how hard it is to _walk_ in these heels?”  She teeters in the center of the kitchen in her spiky blue pumps and Finnick smirks, eyeing them patronizingly.

He snorts, “I’ll carry you then.  They’ll go crazy.”  She huffs.

He’s referring, of course, to the Capitolites who will no doubt be there to see them off.  Victors don’t go anywhere in the Capitol without a crowd of admirers lurking behind them.  And besides, their little romantic getaway hasn’t exactly been kept quiet.  Everyone knows about it.  Snow made sure of that.  He will use every angle he can to get the public eye away from Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark.

 _“You’ve_ gone crazy,” she tells him indulgently, and airily drifts to where her suitcases are waiting.  Two of them, lined side by side near the edge of the counter.  Finnick watches her as she crosses her arms and waits for him to pick them up.  That’s what Silver Lamprey Cornelius would do after all.  The real her wouldn’t think twice about heaving them both up and striding out of her apartment like that, but she has her alter ego to think about. 

“Fine,” Finnick sighs, rolling his eyes at her when she just stares at him.  “I’ll carry your suitcases.  I guess that’s what a boyfriend would do, right?” 

Sil just shrugs daintily and watches him roll his sleeves up to his elbows.  When he lifts both suitcases, the muscles of his arms roil beneath his skin in a very attractive way.  The muscles in his face shift too, but into a cringe.

“These weigh a _ton_ ,” he complains, scowling at her.  “You do know that District 4 is hot, right?  You won’t be needing much clothing.”

Sil simpers at him and says easily, “Evenings in District 1 aren’t as warm, my love.  And besides, I couldn’t possibly survive without my fashion!  What on earth would people say?!”  She watches his expression turn to disbelief. 

He cannot figure her out, but perhaps he will begin to understand her during this trip.  It is, after all, one of the reasons he’s invited her to come see District 4 with him.  She is a mystery that he needs to unravel.  He doesn’t understand her and something inside him tells him that there’s a whole lot more to her than meets the eye.  He has to know what Snow has put her through these past few years.  He’s not sure why but he just needs to.

The other reason is far more selfish: he desperately wants to go home, even if it’s for a short while.  These days, it seems that he spends more time in the Capitol than he does in District 4. 

“Come on,” he says instead, heaving the heavy luggage to the door.  “We should probably get going, seeing as I won’t be able to do any romantic gestures with my hands full.”

Sil laughs and winks at him, “I’m sure you’ll still be able to think of something, Finnick darling.”  And then they are out the door, walking to the elevators that will take them to the ground floor of the apartment complex.

The train station is indeed packed with Capitol people who want to see them off.  The moment Finnick opens the door of the taxi cab, the noise level rockets up into levels unknown.  Yet they are known, to some degree, because everywhere a Victor goes this appreciation for them follows.  It’s just that much more chaotic now that Finnick and Sil are in a public relationship.

The two of them walk hand in hand down the concrete landing.  Sil’s luggage is taken by a worker to be loaded onto the train, which leaves them to do their romantic gestures after all.  Finnick, looking dashing as ever in his expensive sunglasses and buttoned shirt pushed up to his elbows, pulls Sil along eagerly.  She isn’t sure how far his real happiness extends, but the smile on his face looks as genuine as it gets.  It’s probably for the crowds, she thinks, and smiles too just for the onlookers.  But Finnick, as always, has to take it one step further.  He pulls her to the doorway of the train’s compartment, pauses right there in plain sight with one foot on the train and the other on the cement, and leans in to kiss her. 

The kiss takes her by surprise, but luckily Sil is an expert at rolling with the punches of her life.  She reels back momentarily, halted only by the insistent hand that Finnick shifts to the back of her head.  He heaves her against him, lips moving with such gentle force that Sil cannot breathe.  It’s because of the publicity of it all, she tells herself.  It is definitely not because she likes it.  Definitely not.

But still she grasps at him, fingers clasping into his shirt as she kisses him back, and Finnick hums appreciatively against her mouth and opens his eyes to wink at her.  Her own narrow back at him, but she doesn’t pull away.  The crowd of Capitol onlookers go crazy at the sight of the impromptu kiss, and they drag it out for as long as the train’s schedule allows them.  Which is, thankfully, only a matter of seconds before it starts to move forward. 

Finnick pushes himself onto the train and romantically lifts Sil up to join him in the doorway, breaking the kiss so that he can wave theatrically to the people watching them.  It’s all very dramatic.  So is the way Sil huffs and disappears into the train the moment the station is behind them.

Finnick follows with a casual sort of amusement playing out on his face.  He watches as she enters a compartment and falls down onto the couch.  He watches her kick her heels off and cross her legs.  He watches her untie the restricting button of her dress that digs into her throat.  And then, Sil gets annoyed with all his watching and tells him blankly, “That was unnecessary.” 

He knows she’s referring to the kiss.  What else could she possibly be talking about?  Finnick shrugs and smirks at her, walking over to the buffet of food that is always supplied to any high ranking person on these trains.  Victors certainly fit the bill of ‘high ranking’, at least in the public eye, and he helps himself to a decadent slice of chocolate cake that looks like it might have more sugar in it than is anywhere near healthy.  Him and his sugar, she sighs.

“Oh come on,” he says as he joins her on the couch.  Around a mouthful of cake he tells her, “Snow wants us to capture the Capitol’s attention.  Sharing romantic kisses is just one way of doing that.”

Sil doesn’t want to think of the other ways to get the Capitol’s attention, and she certainly doesn’t plan on going any farther than a few kisses with him.  But something else in his words makes her pause.  She watches him out of the corner of her eye, directing the full force of her gaze carefully to the window as the world rolls by. 

Slowly, she muses, “You don’t seem to have a problem with obeying Snow’s every command.”  He lets things happen to him.  Prostitution.  Manipulation.  Does Finnick even care about going against Snow, or is he so much of a coward that a rebellion against the Capitol would turn him against all of her plans?  Perhaps recruiting him isn’t the best idea.  Hopefully by the end of this awful trip, she’ll have a better understanding of where his true loyalties lie – to Snow, or to himself.

Finnick stops eating to give her a sideways look.  She doesn’t look back, but she can see the contemplative, heavy expression on his face.  Has she upset him again?  Well good.  Surely he doesn’t think that obeying Snow in such a listless way is a good thing? 

Finnick laughs humorlessly and continues eating.  He leans back into a comfortable position and kicks his legs up onto the opposite couch.  In a breezy voice, he shrugs, “I wouldn’t expect you to understand what I go through, Silver, but Snow doesn’t exactly give me a whole lot of freedom.”

She knows what he goes through.  She knows practically everything about every Victor, and all of the things that Snow makes them do.  She is after all Snow’s ‘lapdog’.  His socialite.  His word passes through her lips.  She is the one who is forced to ensure that all the Victors, especially those like Finnick, are…taken care of.  But she has done plenty of digging on her own, for herself and for the rebellion.  She’s gotten very good at being at the right place at the right time, and looking through all sorts of paperwork and files that she shouldn’t have access to. 

She knows plenty of things that Finnick doesn’t think she knows – both about him and his life, and about every other Victor who has come before them.  She has prepared herself for the tides of this rebellion in the only way she could: by becoming a storage unit of all the information she can gather.  Where Finnick is filled with secrets to use as leverage, Sil turns instead to other sources of data.  Facts that she ultimately sends to President Coin in District 13.

“Well…” she stretches, putting on a pretty smile.  It’s her airy, lightheaded, stupid smile.  The one she wears to every social event she is forced to go to.  The one she uses to quietly manipulate everyone around her into believing that she is innocent and totally useless.  “I suppose you’re right.  I just think you ought to be more careful in the future, Finnick.  What if you had dropped me while you were lifting me up?  Why, I doubt I’d be able to walk around in daylight for at least a month out of the embarrassment of it all.”

The Sil that Finnick knows would only be concerned with her own image, and Finnick rolls his eyes at her.  He dryly says, “I seriously wonder about you, Sil.  Don’t you care about anything important?”  She blinks at him and he sighs.  Of course she doesn’t, he thinks, which is why this trip will very possibly be more annoying than useful.  Despite his various reasons for suggesting the trip, the underlying one is simply that he wants to go home for a while.

Annie hasn’t been doing very well lately.  He has always been able to bring her back to earth whenever she drifts away.  And yes, he wants to understand Sil’s strange secrets, but mostly he just likes the idea of getting out of the Capitol for a little while. 

If he has to drag her along with him, so be it, but he isn’t sure how long he’ll be able to stand being around her.  He doesn’t generally go for stupid blondes, after all.  He doesn’t generally go for anyone, actually, unless that someone has paid for a night with him.

Sil merely blinks at him, as if she isn’t sure why he doesn’t think that such things are important, and breezily tells him, “Darling, reputations are all Victors have.”  And they are, just as her reputation is all that’s keeping her afloat here in this world of double-sided espionage.

Finnick only rolls his eyes and takes another bite of his cake.  He doesn’t respond and Sil is perfectly fine with sitting in silence.  She leans back and crosses her legs.  Her silk sundress sashays over her legs like water cascading over rock, but Finnick barely notices.  Years of charming women have made him uninterested in real romance.  He glances at her in boredom and leans back too, and together they sit in the silence of a rocking train as it pushes them toward their faux rendezvous.  Let the Capitol think what it will, it hardly makes any difference to him.

The country rolls passed.  Forests are left behind and the elevation drops.  Soon they are flying through the plains toward the sea.  Sil has only taken this route once before, for her Victory Tour years ago.  She watches her familiar world morph into one that she is wholly unfamiliar with, and when the sea at last crests the horizon, she all but shoots to the windows in a fit of childish excitement.

It is beautiful and vast.  It spreads out like a universe of glittering mirrors that beckon her into their depths, and Sil all but presses her nose against the glass in a very unladylike manner as she gapes at the scene.  But Finnick, who has seen it all before time after time, stares at her instead.  He tilts his head and watches her, wondering at the way her eyes widen.  He is struck with the sudden thought of her innocence, which she still somehow retains even after the horrors that the Capitol surely inflicted upon her.  How can she be so happy even after all that she’s been through?  And that leads him to yet another question – one that he has been wondering for quite some time now: what exactly has she been through?  He is hoping that this trip will clear up that particular curiosity.

“Finnick, look – it’s so lovely,” she says, keeping her eyes firmly latched onto the ocean.  From the train window it looks like a painting from another reality.  And from his seat, she looks like a painting too, full of luxury and grace.  He shakes that thought away with a clear of his throat and smiles indulgently at her.

Suddenly she turns to him and the thought comes back at full force.  He stares at those bright eyes of hers, wide and round like a child’s, and thinks that she looks very elegant indeed in her silk dress and the ocean breaching out behind her.  He doesn’t stop staring even when Sil raises an eyebrow at him and frowns.

“What?” she wonders, and he just shrugs.

“Did I mention that I love your dress?” Finnick tells her with a flirtatious quirk of his mouth.  She rolls her eyes and turns back to the view, and he turns back to her.

“Dear me,” she says dryly, “Finnick Odair has complimented me yet again.  My heart is positively racing.”  She sends him a smirk that he instantly returns.

“As it should,” he chuckles, standing up to join her at the window.  “Not every woman can say they’ve been complimented by me.  It’s an honor.”  He leans against the window in a rather charming way, expecting her (as any woman would) to blush at his proximity.  But Sil only smirks wider and doesn’t spare him a glance.  She’s got eyes only for the ocean and, for some reason, Finnick thinks her excitement is lovely.

“You’ll take me swimming, won’t you?” she asks eagerly, for once not forcing her excitement.  She is truly happy to see the ocean.  “And show me that romantic shack?  And of course you’ll have to take me to buy a new dress – people will be expecting me to visit all the fashion stores, you know.  We’ll go out for seafood and take a walk on the pier.  I think that would be suitably romantic, don’t you?”  She would have continued her rambling, if Finnick doesn’t cut in.

“It sounds like you’ve planned all this down to the letter,” Finnick says with a sigh, ruffling his bronze hair. 

She glances idly at him and shrugs, “We need to make sure our little vacation at least _appears_ romantic, Finnick.  That’s what people will expect from us.  Cameras will no doubt be watching every move we make.”

She’s right.  He knows she’s right.  But he still doesn’t like the way they have to pretend.  Instead of voicing that, though, Finnick merely sends her a flirty smile and murmurs, “Just as long as you don’t fall in love with me, sugar.”  She gives him a scowl.

“Right back at you, darling,” she returns, and then perks up as the train begins to slow.  “Now escort me into District 4, my love.  We don’t have all day you know.”

He does, and as she takes his arm and he leads her into the whirlwind of his district, Sil presses his words to her skin and keeps them there.  Falling in love with him would definitely jeopardize many things, and she certainly won’t be making that mistake.  But as fate would have it, mistakes are all a person can rely on, and she is only just stepping into the eye of this particular storm.

 

* * *

 

Finnick takes her through the heart of District 4.  He points out various places along the way, gesturing here and there at restaurants or town buildings as he clasps his fingers around hers.  Their luggage is being brought directly to the Victor Village, but they meander through the district at a slower pace.  It is only early afternoon and the entire day spans ahead of them.

“Take me down there,” Sil says, pointing down a pathway that curls off into a wild, waist-high forest of beach grass.  The ocean is just beyond, so close that Sil can taste it on the breeze.

“You’ll ruin your dress,” he warns, but even as he speaks, Sil is wiggling out of her shoes and thrusting them into his hands for safekeeping.  Finnick sighs and watches her take off down the curling path, trudging after her.  He feels more like a babysitter than a romantic partner.

“Silver, be careful – we didn’t bring extra clothes!”

Too late.  Sil is already ankle deep in the water, the hem of her dress drenched with salty brine.  She doesn’t seem to care.  In fact, she only steps further into the ocean, lifting her skirts higher up her legs as she goes, though it hardly matters.  Finnick enjoys the view, at least.

He flings her shoes down onto the sand and steps closer as she inches her way out.  For a woman who has only seen the ocean once before, she is certainly unafraid of it.  Usually Victors from the other districts would be freaking out and wailing about not being able to swim.  But Sil just fearlessly steps forward, sends him a mischievous smile over her shoulder, and laughs.

The laughter lasts for about as long as Finnick’s appreciation of her.  At once, he is startled into a panic that has everything to do with the fact that Sil is getting closer and closer to the ocean shelf, the part of the underwater terrain that drops very suddenly several feet down.  She appears to be blissfully unaware of its existence, which of course doesn’t surprise him.  Only someone intimately knowledgeable about the sea would know about all its ins and outs.

“Sil, wait,” he says, jogging forward.  He untucks his shirt, pushes into the water and reaches for her hand.  But his exclamation makes her spin around, teetering on the edge of the drop-off that Sil is only now realizing exists.  She feels the sand slipping beneath her feet, feels herself sliding into the water, and she cannot stop herself even as she squeals, “Finn – “ 

Much to her alter ego’s dismay, she falls.

The real her thinks it’s exhilarating, feeling the salty water wrap itself around her.  It doesn’t last for very long, of course.  Finnick is close enough to grasp her and pull her out.  She is thrown against him at the force of it all, drenching from head to toe.  Finnick stares down at her with wide, surprised eyes and she stares back up at him with a matching expression…and then she murmurs, “Gracious.” 

That one word is enough to make them both burst out into uncontrollable laughter.  He heaves her back into a standing position.  She holds onto him for dear life, shivering even as she laughs.  Some part of her scolds her for not acting more like her alter ego, but mostly Sil can’t be bothered.  In this one moment, she is herself.  Not what the Capitol has created, not what the rebellion has made, but just her.  Just Silver Lamprey Cornelius, with no strings attached.

Finnick’s laughter dies first, for one reason: now that he pulls her toward the beach, he can see how it had been a bad move, taking her here so soon.  Not for her, but for him…because her dress is absolutely clinging to her body and leaves practically nothing to the imagination.  The fabric is plastered to her skin, easily showing off every curve she has.  It is a sight that makes his mouth run dry, though he isn’t entirely sure why.  Sil is beautiful, yes, but he’s never been attracted to her before.  It must be his hormones rearing up after the week of endless clients. 

He clears his throat and smiles suavely, undoing his shirt.  Sil, who has quickly caught on, doesn’t complain as he hands it to her.  She does complain, of course, when he takes it one step further and puts in on her himself.

“I do know how to button a shirt myself, you know,” she dryly informs him, but doesn’t move as his fingers fly over the front of the shirt.  Bare chested as he is, she thinks he looks rather lovely on the beach.  Powerful and graceful: just what Finnick Odair should be, with a generous helping of charm.

“As your proclaimed lover, it’s my duty to handle all of your clothes, Silver,” he tells her with a wink, and she rolls her eyes.  The look on her face makes him chuckle, “Uh-uh, none of that.  You’re supposed to swoon at my every word.  You really have to practice more, your acting is appalling.”

His words almost make her laugh outright.  Her acting skills are in fact top-notch, honed from years of remaining undercover in the lion’s den that is the Capitol.  She says nothing of this, of course, and just shrugs, as if she is blindly unaware of any such thing.  She is only Silver Lamprey Cornelius – stupid, hair-brained, forgetful.  That is all she is to him, and all she wants to be.

“I don’t suppose you’ll keep your mouth shut about this little…mishap?” Sil wonders, sounding perfectly awkward. 

Her question makes Finnick smirk and shrug, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, which tells her immediately that keeping quiet over this hilarious situation is probably beyond his capabilities.  Oh well.  At least it all looks terribly romantic, her wearing his shirt and him half dressed.  Especially when he hooks her arm with his and bends down to grab her shoes from the beach.  They dangle in his free hand as they walk together off the beach, but this time they take an alternate route. 

The sun is still high in the sky and the sand sinks beneath their feet.  Sil’s fedora is damp but remains perched atop her now wet hair.  She longs for her sunglasses but she left them in her suitcase, which is no doubt waiting for them in the Victor’s Village by now.  No matter, she can still see perfectly fine.  Before she left, Mr. Dorsey had given her several technological objects to help her on her way.  The contacts she’s wearing do more than merely shade her eyes from bright lights, they help in other ways too.  It’s how she’s able to detect the presence of a cameraman who lurks in the underbrush several meters to their right.  The red glow of another life force blares up in her vision, and Sil pauses.

Finnick stops too, frowning at her.  “What’s wrong?” he asks, but Sil just shakes her head.  They’ve come here for a romantic getaway, so why not give the Capitol what it so craves?  So far, Finnick’s been the one to initiate things between them, but Sil is suddenly overcome by a rush of adrenaline that must have an outlet.  And with the paparazzi watching their every move, and this frankly enchanting moment on the beach, it would be downright sinful not to take full advantage of it.

She steps closer, catching his eyes.  Finnick raises an eyebrow and, when she leans close, he holds his breath.  She’s going to kiss him.  He isn’t sure why but she is, and for some reason he doesn’t stop her.  When her lips make contact with his, Finnick can only stand there and kiss her back, even as the rest of his body screams at him for the betrayal.

But is it betrayal?  This is Sil, and he doesn’t know where he stands with her, but they are technically dating.  Is it so wrong to kiss your fake girlfriend on the beach?  The only thing he wonders at is how she can be so eager to kiss him in the first place, but that thought is quickly banished the moment she grasps his bare shoulders tightly and deepens the kiss.  That’s when his worries start to mesh with what almost feels like pleasure.

He kisses her back, of course.  He’s Finnick Odair and he deals with kisses like they’re handshakes.  He doesn’t expect it to feel so wonderful, though.  But something in the way she presses herself against him and runs her fingers ever so lightly over his chest makes him shudder and pull her in for more.  His hands grasp the damp shirt he’d just put on her and he pushes her head back with the force of his kiss, surprised at the way she immediately fights back with equal passion.  And just as he’s starting to get into it, Sil breaks away as suddenly as she had began, and Finnick is left feeling rather strange and very unsatisfied, which frightens him.

He doesn’t want romance, especially not with a socialite Victor who doesn’t have a single original thought in her head.  And yet he is starting to wonder at that.  Perhaps Sil is more original than he’s thought.  Perhaps she’s craftier than he realized.  Perhaps, or…perhaps not.  She pulls away with a simpering laugh and slides her fingers around his wrist, pulling him forward.

“I dearly need a shower, Finnick darling.  Show me your house,” is all she says, as if the kiss had never happened at all.  As if Finnick’s heart hadn’t just momentarily stopped for reasons entirely unknown to him. 

He smiles too, as if it had never happened, and starts off toward the Victor’s Village.  Two can play at this game, and he is very good at it.  Together they leave the beach – one completely aware of the snapping camera behind them, the other only aware of the frightening way his heart shudders to match. 

* * *

A/N: This is sort of how I imagine Sil looks like, if anyone's interested.  Just to be thorough, Dove Cameron owns her face/gifs ;)

Should I include more gifs of Finnick and her in the future?  Let me know!  I just thought it would be fun.

 


	8. Overflowing with pale waves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: In which Sil noses around Finnick's house, Sil pretends to have the pickiest diet ever, and they go out on a fake date. Their time in District 4 will continue for a couple chapters, then they'll be heading off to District 1!

 

**Chapter Eight | Overflowing with pale waves**

 

_“A pleasant though distinctly inane laugh was heard from outside, and the next moment an unusually tall and very richly dressed figure appeared in the doorway.”  Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

 

Unlike Finnick’s apartment, his house is much more personal, despite its general lack of decoration.  It’s still very different from hers, but in a refreshing way.  Where Sil’s house is cluttered with odds and ends and luxurious furnishings, Finnick’s is oddly clean in an almost unnatural way.  It’s beautiful though.  The view is spectacular and the way the light streams in from the many windows is absolutely breathtaking.

They step inside quietly.  Finnick waves his hand for her to go ahead of him and she does, walking into the foyer of the large house.  It’s set up the same way hers is back in the Victor’s Village in District 1, though she rarely uses the house.  The kitchen is immediately to the left and the living room to the right.  The open floor plan makes use of every available space.  In the back, a staircase winds its way up to the second floor.  Not as extravagant as her own home, but then again the Cornelius estate is probably the richest property in District 1. 

“What a lovely home, Finnick,” Sil says honestly, smiling at him.  He smiles back, but there’s something guarded in his eyes as he looks at her.  It probably has to do with their kiss.  She can’t entirely blame him.

Their suitcases are waiting near the door, and Finnick takes hers and lifts them up.    
“Come on,” he tells her, walking to the stairs, “I’ll show you your room.”  She follows him to the second floor, where they walk down a slim hallway.  Windows open up to the salty sea air, which perforates everything in sight.  There are several doors that they walk past, until they reach the end of the hall and Finnick nods at the last one.  Sil takes this as her queue to open it.

Her room is as lovely as the rest of the house.  She has a great view of the ocean.  Floor length windows show her as much, opening up a world of glittering blue water and gorgeous beaches.  There’s a balcony too, which slips all the way around the corner and keeps going past her line of sight.  It undoubtedly connects with the other rooms. 

Gauzy curtains hang from the windows and the French doors.  Her bed is big and fluffy with countless pillows.  An emerald green rug fans out beneath it, and oak furniture blends the room together into a dream.

Slowly, she walks to the French doors and opens them, stepping outside onto the balcony, where several chairs have been placed.  Finnick sets her suitcases near her bed before joining her.  He leans against the railing and stuffs his hands into his pockets, but doesn’t say anything for several long minutes.

“…I thought tomorrow I’d show you around town.  Maybe go buy that dress,” he jokes, and she smiles.

Curling her fingers around the railing, Sil glances at him and catches his eye.  Silence descends once more upon them, until Finnick at last allows himself to wonder, “Why did you kiss me on the beach?”  He stares at her and she stares back.

Amused, Sil chuckles and dramatically asks, “Why do you think I kissed you, Finnick my love?”  When he doesn’t respond, she smirks and waves her hand airily, “There was a cameraman hiding in the bushes.  I thought I’d make the most of it.  It was ever so romantic, after all, what with me wearing your shirt.  I should really change though – there’s salt in my hair, a terrible thing really – “  she murmurs several other things that aren’t very important and disappears back inside, leaving Finnick feeling stranded on the balcony.

Of course there was a reason for the kiss.  He isn’t surprised and he isn’t disappointed, but some part of him wilts at the thought.  It’s probably because he isn’t used to someone else calling the shots.  He’s supposed to do that, not her.  That he allowed it makes him feel a little out of control.  Luckily he’s good at masking such feelings.

With a suave grin, Finnick saunters back into the room just in time to see Sil wrestle an expensive silk robe out of her suitcase.  He leans against the threshold of the balcony and smirks, “Well that’s good to hear.  For a moment I actually thought you _wanted_ to kiss me.  Maybe you’re a better actress than I’ve given you credit for.”

She pauses in the process of unbuttoning her dress and glances at him over her shoulder.  His words hit home in a surprisingly close manner.  Kissing Finnick Odair voluntarily had never been a part of the plan, and she’s still not sure that was what she did anyhow, but she cannot deny that it felt good.  He’s just a very good kisser, she tells herself with a shrug, and allows her dress to spiral to the ground, unconcerned about her half-dressed form.  She’s changed in front of him before, after all, and considering that they’re technically together now, she doesn’t think it matters much.  Finnick doesn’t shy away from this sort of thing anyway.  He hardly bats an eye as she slips the robe on.

“Don’t be silly, Finnick,” she tells him with a chuckle, “the day I want to kiss you is the day I forget everything I stand for.”

He mock cringes and she laughs.  “Ouch,” he says, placing a hand dramatically over his heart.  “You really know how to kick a man when he’s down,” he divulges as he shoves away from the wall and crosses the room.  He sends her a playful wink and grins, “Enjoy your shower, sugar.  I’ll make us some lunch.  Oh, and I love the robe by the way.”  And with those flirtatious words, he disappears from the room and closes the door behind him.

Sil stands there for a while after he’s gone, playing idly with the ties of her robe as she looks out over the bright ocean beyond her window.  She is unaware that her words are in fact a warning – to herself.  But it is true.  The moment she actually kisses Finnick Odair for real will be the beginning of her descent to boring normalcy, and she can’t have that.  Romance is not meant for Victors and she doesn’t want it anyway, but she could not know in that moment that she is already on the path to forging exactly that.

After her shower, Sil dresses in a slim pair of black trouser pants and an expensive white shirt.  She is nothing if not forever classy, or at least that’s what her alter ego would say.  When she’s finished blow-drying her hair, Sil prances downstairs to find her tour guide/boyfriend/whatever the hell Finnick is to her.  Except there is one little problem: Finnick is gone.

She raises an eyebrow and meanders into the kitchen, where he told her he’d be making them lunch only half an hour before.  But there is no sign of his even being in the room – no plates readied on the counter, no food prepared even to the smallest degree.  It is empty of him, and so it seems, is the entire house.

She walks around looking for him, but when it becomes clear to her that he isn’t anywhere to be found, Sil quickly gives up.  What does she care that he’s gone and left her here in this great big house?  She’s used to being alone.  With a huff, she pulls open the refrigerator, only to find a very minimalistic spread.  There’s old lettuce, ketchup, some pickles, and something pushed very far into the back that looks like pure mold.

Perhaps that’s where Finnick has gone then.  He must have realized how severely lacking their lunch would be had he remained here.  With a sigh, Sil decides to explore the house just to give herself something to do.  It wouldn’t hurt knowing where everything is anyway.  It’s usually the first thing an undercover agent does…though, well, in this case she isn’t really working so much as vacationing.  Finnick is a Victor like her and she doubts she’ll have many problems with him.  But since he’s gone, a little snooping would definitely make her feel more in control of herself.

She starts upstairs.  She isn’t sure when Finnick will be home and besides, bedrooms are usually where people keep their deepest darkest secrets, aren’t they?  And what a lot of bedrooms there is.  Five of them, three overlooking the ocean and the other two peering down into the center of the Victor’s Village, where a large mermaid fountain pours water into several aqueduct-style outlets that spread into the pavement. 

All the rooms are super clean, as per Finnick’s apparent style, but Sil somehow doubts he would choose a bedroom that reminds him of the Games in any way.  She turns instead to ocean-view rooms and finds one in particular that just seems like him.  It’s airy, light colored, like sandy beaches.  Plus it smells like him, that musky ocean scent that makes her head spin. 

She steps inside, notices the suitcases sitting near the boudoir, and murmurs to herself, “Let’s see…letters, stamps, handwriting…”  She searches the desk and finds a handwritten note of…dates?  Curious, she lifts it from the pile and scans it, and by the time she is done, Sil feels oddly breathless and she doesn’t know why.

It seems that Finnick is a planner too.  Like her, he has thought of places to take her during their weeklong stay in District 4.  Several places in town are listed, including a little dinner with several other Victors, and he’s even listed the romantic cabin she wanted to see all those weeks before – his hidden little spot up the coast.  She feels strange at the obvious foresight that he has put into her stay.  No one has ever thought of her in such a way before.

Sil smiles softly and collapses onto Finnick’s bed, hair splayed beneath her as she lifts the page to read it again and again.  She has memorized it by the time Finnick returns, though she doesn’t know he’s back until his voice suddenly shimmers through the silence in that sexy low tone of his, “Didn’t know you were that eager to jump into my bed, Silver.  You really should’ve told me – I’m not dressed for the occasion.”  He plucks at his button up and gives her a very suave smile as he enters the room.

With a scoff, Sil rolls onto her stomach and drawls, “Oh please.  I was exploring, Finnick – and look what I found while I was snooping around in your bedroom - dinner at the Syreni Museum?  A romantic walk on the beach?”  She waves the paper near her face and Finnick shrugs, unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it off his body.  She blinks at the sudden show of muscle and skin (he is truly a fine male specimen) but doesn’t react further.

“Welllll…” he drags out as he searches for another shirt to wear.  His back is to her and Sil curiously draws her eyes over his firm muscles.  She has a flash of thought regarding what it might be like to hold onto those shoulders, to scratch and kiss her way down that spine – but it’s shoved mournfully away before it can be further explored.  Finnick is attractive, sure, but there’s no reason for her to join that particular bandwagon.  It would probably only amuse him anyway.

He finds a simple white t-shirt and turns back around, clearly flaunting his bare chest.  Sil rolls her eyes as he pulls the shirt on and continues, “You have a high class boyfriend now – that means high class dates.  Besides, we need to be in the public eye for at least some of the trip.” 

She hums and gazes at the list again.

“What’s this about a dinner party?” she wonders, tilting her head at him.  He glances at her and shrugs.

“Thought it’d be nice you know?  Seeing Mags and Annie again.  I haven’t had a dinner party in ages,” he admits, and Sil brightens as if she’s transformed into a miniature sun intent on blinding him.

“Not to worry, Finnick my love – back at my estate, we have dinner parties nearly every week!” she beams at him and says, “You have a beautiful house; perfect for parties.”  He smiles indulgently at her (her and her parties, he thinks dryly) and she pretends that it’s real and keeps talking simply to give herself something to do (because Finnick is now changing his pants and she needs a distraction). 

“I can’t wait to show you my home in District 1.  My father is waiting to meet you, you know.  He’s heard all those dreadful rumors about us being together.  I’ll set him straight when I see him, don’t worry – oh, and Finnick, where did you go while I was showering?” she asks it in a very lighthearted way, as if she doesn’t really care, but inside she wonders if he is up to something.  She’s naturally suspicious.  She wasn’t always, but her lifestyle has made her so.

But Finnick, for whatever it’s worth, is very good at brushing her concerns away.  He shrugs and tells her, “Grocery shopping.  The cleaning lady must’ve forgot to stock the fridge.” 

Of course he also went to visit Annie and Mags, because he really wanted to greet them without this silly excuse of a Victor hanging off his arm in those precarious heels.  He doesn’t mention that, though.  It’s none of her business anyhow, and he happens to value his freedom (or at least as much of it that he’s allowed).

Sil opens her mouth into a perfect ‘O’ and says, “How dreadful!  I hope you remembered that I only eat red meat on Wednesdays and my favorite wine is Sauvignon Blanc.”  Inside, she has a good chuckle at the ridiculous words, but her expression remains pointed and ever-so serious.  Finnick’s, on the other hand, turns drier than a desert in mid-summer.

“Of course you do,” he drawls, rolling his eyes to the ceiling.  How would he have known any of those things?  He sighs and tells himself it doesn’t matter.  She’ll eat whatever he makes or not eat at all.  They may be ‘dating’, but Finnick isn’t going to bend over backwards to make sure her every need it met.  Red meat on Wednesdays?  Really?

“You know,” he says idly, standing in front of the mirror and combing his fingers through his hair, “that particular wine is extremely expensive.  I don’t think we even have that in District 4.” 

It’s vintage, from God-knows-when, and he’s got a feeling they only sell it in the Capitol or in her own District, where luxury items are just a part of daily life.  But here in 4, the social classes are not as elite, and people are usually more interested in simply finding something to eat for the day.  All too often, this is a struggle for people here.

“Oh not to worry,” Sil says with a shrug, “I’m sure I’ll be charmed by whichever quaint wine I try.”  She turns back to the list of dates and smirks into the paper.  If she can be as insufferable as possible during her stay, then perhaps Finnick will avoid her as much as possible.  That would certainly make it infinitely easier to ignore him.

Finnick glances at her, eyebrow raised, but doesn’t comment.  He merely shakes his head and tells her, “I’ll be in the kitchen getting lunch together.  I’m assuming you’ll eat a _sandwich?”_   He half expects her to outright refuse.  Her actual response is even worse.

“Oh yes, darling.  But no tomatoes, and absolutely no onions, and only one layer of cheese – I’m watching my dairy intake you see.”

Finnick closes his eyes, breathes out, and then smiles obnoxiously, “ _Of course,_ sugar.  I’ll get right on that.”  Not.

Sil simpers at him as he leaves, then as soon as the door closes she collapses onto the bed in a fit of silent laughter that shakes through her body.  She buries her face into his pillow and bites her lip, finally letting her smile overtake her expression.  She can’t possibly help herself – he’s just so fun to mess around with, especially since he doesn’t even know she’s doing it.  In actuality, she loves tomatoes, and onions, and cheese – and she could eat red meat any day of the week, and doesn’t even care all that much for wine.  But Finnick doesn’t know the real her.  He knows only what she wants him to know.

Fifteen minutes later when she appears in the kitchen, her sandwich awaits: just a slab of bread with a layer of turkey and several layers of cheese stuffed between.  And Finnick smiles that obnoxious smile that tells her he isn’t someone she can order around.  She smiles back, picks the extra cheese away, and secretly thinks it’s a little bit sexy that he’s so stubborn. 

She’s always liked stubborn, attractive men.

* * *

 

During the first night in District 4, Sil and Finnick go out.  It’s sort of expected of them to, and so they both dress up in nice clothes and head out to the nicest diner in town, an intimate little restaurant called The Cove.  Finnick is an absolute gentleman in public.  Not that he isn’t in private, but he makes more of a show of pulling out her chair and holding the doors open for her.  He also orders the best wine, and while it isn’t Sauvignon Blanc, it’s still good.  It’s one of the District’s special fruit wines they make in a distillery near the docks.  They strike up conversation over what else the distillery is known for (mainly hard liquor people here like to call sailor’s swill), and wait for their meals to come.

The whole menu is seafood.  It’s just as well that Sil apparently only eats red meat one day of the week, because there isn’t much of it to go around.  District 4 is a sea-faring district so it’s rather appropriate.  She orders blue crab.  Finnick gets a lobster roll. 

“Do you think we’re being watched?” Sil wonders idly, peering casually toward the windows as if she hopes to catch sight of a cameraman lurking nearby.  She delicately forks over some blue crab onto Finnick’s plate and he smiles suavely at her as he tries it.

“Who cares?” he asks around a mouthful of the crab, and closes his eyes.  “Mm…I’ve missed seafood.  The Capitol really doesn’t do it justice.”  She turns her eyes to him and stares.

Okay, so Finnick is attractive.  She knows this.  But there’s something about the way he moans around his food, savoring every flavor, that makes her wonder at her own sanity.  The man is a natural-born seducer, she realizes.  She’d known he was good before, but he isn’t even trying right now and he’s still succeeding!  She shakes her head, hoping to clear it, and tells herself that she is Silver Lamprey Cornelius and she isn’t so easily swayed, even by Finnick Odair’s infamous charms.

She sips her wine.  “Perhaps we should move closer together?  What if Snow doesn’t think we’re trying hard enough?” 

Her worries are halfhearted – she doesn’t really want to move any closer to Finnick.  Their table is tiny already, just a little square.  Their knees brush against each other occasionally.  It would be ridiculously easy to ‘accidentally’ get closer.  And besides, people are already staring.  They’re both famous Victors and Finnick is one of their own, so of course they’d be curious.

He glances at her and says, “Just act naturally, Sil.  There’s no point getting so worked up about it.”  He’s right, of course, but she doesn’t like to take chances concerning their dear President.

Act naturally.  Right.  She thinks she can do that.  Then again, she isn’t sure what natural means when it has to do with dating.  She hasn’t had a real boyfriend since she became Victor, and the few encounters of her pre-Games life hadn’t lasted longer than one night stands or the occasional week long rendezvous.  Come to think of it, she’s never been taken out to such a nice restaurant with a man she’s supposed to be dating.  Her old self had been completely uninterested in attachments, and right now, she’s a bit swept up in ensuring that the Sterling Nightingale remains hidden.  Having a boyfriend, however real, compromises that particular secret.

“Relax,” Finnick orders, and she realizes vaguely that she’s been tensely sitting there, and that he’s probably wondering what’s wrong.  He is, and Finnick isn’t the kind of person who ignores his own curiosity.  “What is it?  Am I making you nervous?” he teases, and she laughs.  The sight of it makes him smile, eyes twinkling like emeralds.

“Not really, no,” she says, then turns her eyes to the windows again and slowly admits, “I’ve just never…well, it’s been a long time since I’ve gone out like this, that’s all.  I never thought I’d be sitting in a cozy little diner with Finnick Odair.”

He stares at her.  There’s a serious glint in his eyes, but his expression looks overall genial.  He’s thinking.  Meandering through her words.  Measuring them.  “Mmm…we definitely make quite a match, don’t we?  I understand why Snow was so adamant about getting us together.” 

Well she isn’t expecting those words to come out of his lips.  She raises an eyebrow and shrugs daintily, leaning forward.  With a flirty wink, Sil murmurs, “We’re both well-known Victors, after all.  Famous, wealthy, and stunningly attractive…and then of course there’s you.”  He gives her a mock-outraged gasp and she breaks out into quiet laughter.

“Careful, sugar, I might actually start to think that you’re flirting with me,” he warns her, and Sil smirks.

“Isn’t that the point, darling?”

He sets a hand dramatically on his chest and grins boyishly, “Definitely.  I’m glad you agree.  Now are you finished?  I’m gonna take you to the best ice cream parlor in town.  Actually it’s the only ice cream parlor in town.”  He shrugs and waves the waiter over for their check.

“Oh my.  A romantic dinner and then ice cream?  Are we going to have a cliché moonlit walk along the beach next?” she wonders sarcastically, and he chuckles.

“That was the plan,” he tells her, signing the bill.  When they stand up, he helps her into her expensive trench coat and leads her to the door, which he holds open for her like the outstanding gentleman he apparently is.

Outside, a cool evening breeze wafts up from the ocean.  The sky is dusky, full of colors that Sil has never noticed before this moment.  Everything is suddenly different here in this crevice of the world.  The sunset is astoundingly bright, and the dotted lamps on every street corner cast a merry, enchanted glow.  People meander around in their long sleeve shirts – it can get chilly in the evenings – and always turn to look at the two famous Victors who pass them by, arm in arm.

Snuggled up to Finnick’s side feels oddly nice.  He’s warm and she gets cold easily.  He immediately notices this after a moment or two of her trying to stop her shivers from ruining the moment.  Or something to that effect.

“You’re freezing!” he frowns, sounding surprised by this.  He probably is; he’s grown up here and is used to the weather.  She’s used to the cold too, but has always been more susceptible to it.  District 1 is a dry, barren desert, after all.  The nights are crisp and chilly some months of the year, but never quite so humid.

Even so, Sil murmurs, “I’m fine.”  Not that it helps.

“I guess ice cream is a no,” he mumbles to himself, then stops her right there in the middle of the sidewalk and starts rubbing his hands up and down her arms.  The warm of his touch is so complete that Sil almost sighs from it, but luckily she can hold that back, at least.

“Honestly, Finnick,” she tells him, drawing away, “I’m fine.  A little cold won’t hurt.”  He’s so dramatic.

With a huff, Finnick slips an arm around her shoulders and tucks her into his side, then in a display of exaggerated adoration, he presses a kiss to her hair.  People stare, whisper, point.  Well they are two of the most famous people in Panem, after all.  Nothing this exciting has happened in District 4 for years. 

“You’re still cold even in that coat?  It’s a good thing I have a multitude of ways to warm you up.”  He winks and playfully squeezes her shoulder.

Sil rolls her eyes at his blatant flirting and lowly tells him, “While I do find your commentary amusing, Finnick darling, I believe you’re doing enough already.  You’re terribly romantic when you want to be you know.  I’m sure you can save your flirting for when people can actually overhear us.”  How funny their relationship is.  Apparently he thinks so too.

“Mmhmm.  But I have a part to play.  Which means I’m giving it my all.  Don’t try to complain, sugar – I know you don’t really mind it.”  He smirks down at her and she sighs.  This time it’s because he’s sort of right.

She doesn’t mind him flirting with her.  It amuses her that he can so easily twist their conversations into innuendos.  It’s funny, following along with him, trying to see where he’ll go next.  Finnick can be serious when he wants to be, but only when he wants to, and that makes it all the more fun.

She gives a trill of laughter and flutters her eyelashes at him.  Two can play at his little games, and Finnick is beginning to realize that Sil is just as adept as he is.  With a simpering smile, she murmurs, “You’re right of course, but only because it entertains me.”  He mustn’t get any ideas after all.

He gives her a smile that clearly says that’s good enough for him, and then makes a thoughtful face.  She doesn’t admit that it’s rather cute, how his nose scrunches up like that. 

“If I was being a good boyfriend – which I always am,” he adds laughingly, and Sil rolls her eyes, “I’d buy you a hot chocolate since ice cream is out.  What do you think?”

Sil shrugs and tells him without a beat, “That would certainly make you a good boyfriend, Finnick.”  But it’s obviously not what he expects, because a moment later, Finnick is dragging her to a halt and bringing both hands on her shoulders.  She gapes at him, brows raised, eyes confused – and shivers dreadfully.  Without his warm body pressed to hers, she feels the chilly breeze more acutely.

“That’s not what I meant,” he teases her lowly, smirking a very boyish half-smirk that makes him look extremely mischievous.  “I want to know if you want hot chocolate, not if you agree that I’m an awesome boyfriend.  I already _know_ that.”

She thinks it’s all very strange, how Finnick can make her feel so many things at once.  Annoyance, amusement, empowerment, desire.  How can she deny herself such a feeling when he is leaning so close, blinking down at her with that devil-may-care expression?  She’s always loved men who live in the moment – men who aren’t afraid of authority.  Finnick has always looked the horrors in his life straight in the face and never flinches.  She knows that much, because she’s been skirting around behind the scenes of his Talent for years now.

She stares at him, wondering how much of her he can truly see.  Wondering if he even notices that this version of herself that she plays is only an act, a part in some grand play that she puts on every day.  Her every word is scripted.  Her every action is a cue that is not her, but the character she portrays.  But apparently she is too good at her job, because his eyes look as innocent as ever.  No, he does not suspect her for being more detailed, more interesting.  For some reason, she feels mild disappointment at this.

“Hmm.  Do they even sell hot chocolate in District 4?” she wonders instead of giving him a straight answer. 

He rolls his eyes at her and quips back, “Why wouldn’t they?  It’s not like District 4 is full of poor people.  We’ve got our wealthy citizens same as any other district.”

He’s right, she knows, but the wealthy people who live here are much different from the ones who live in District 1 or the Capitol.  There, people wear wealth like it’s their safeguard against the horrendous underbelly that unknowingly plays a large role behind the scenes.  Being wealthy in District 1 means living in lavish mansions on the edges of town, dripping with jewels from the most expensive shops, and wearing luxurious clothing.  It sets them all aside, makes the wealthy into immortals who are high above the other classes.  Sil knows; she’s lived that life since birth.  But here in District 4, being wealthy is simpler, more robust.  It means having one extra boat.  It means having a little more food on the table.

She doesn’t comment though and merely shrugs, “Very well then.  If you must.”  It would be awful romantic, doing something as spontaneous as buying hot cocoa at the end of summer.

Finnick resists the urge to roll his eyes again, lest someone sees through his careful airs.  For someone who he’s always seen as being airy and lightheaded, Sil is surprisingly stubborn.  She’s not supposed to care about money – she’s supposed to just lavish in her expensive things and not bat an eye at the bills, let alone notice the differences in wealth between districts.  And she isn’t supposed to question it either, like she is actually capable of original thought and – God forbid – _concern_ for the common people.  It’s probably because she’s still not comfortable here, he tells himself, and tries to put the thought from his mind.

“Come on then,” is all he says, slipping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her down the street.  They walk about a block before reaching a little corner shop with an old looking blinking neon sign that says ‘open’.  It looks like the last place a woman like Silver Lamprey Cornelius would go into, which of course makes it all the more fun.  Finnick even holds the door for her.

It’s as trashy looking inside as it is outside, but Finnick strides up to the counter as if he’s walked across the tiled floors many times in the past.  She wonders, briefly, if this is an old hang-out place he’d go to with his friends.  The thought solidifies further when the old woman behind the counter looks up and beams at him.  “Finnick!” she exclaims, her voice wrinkled like her face, “It’s been a while since you’ve stopped by to say hello.  I see you’ve brought your new girlfriend.”  There is a very slight pause on the word, as if the woman can see right through them. 

If Finnick is surprised that the lady knows about his romantic life, he doesn’t make it show.  Instead he just leans against the counter and smiles that disarming smile.

“Serena.  This is Sil.  It’s her first day in 4.  Thought I’d show her what real hospitality is like.”  The charming smile widens, and is accompanied by a flirty wink that makes the old woman laugh.

“Keep that up and you’ll give me a heart attack,” Serena tells him, then looks at Sil.  “Pleased to meet you.  Now what did you two have in mind?”

Finnick glances back at Sil and motions for her to step closer.  She does, mimicking Finnick’s posture as she leans against the counter.  She looks down through the glass, eyeing the cartons of colorful ice cream beneath the pane, then moves her attention to the large blackboard, where hasty dishes have been etched with chalk.

“Pleasure to meet you, my love,” Sil says to Serena with a charming smile of her own, and Serena blinks at her in vague surprise.  Sil doesn’t stop to question why – she just says in her District 1 posh accent, “Finnick tells me your hot chocolate is to die for.  Naturally I’m skeptical – though I’m always willing to try something once you know.”  She gives her best simper and Serena’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Well I’ll be!” Serena mutters, “No wonder you’re dating.  I had my suspicions at first, mind you – but you are both so similar that it all makes perfect sense!” Finnick shuffles at bit at the words, unsure of what to say, unsure of what he feels too.  Surely he isn’t happy that he is similar to Sil?  She is so stupid that he’s sure it’s some sort of insult wrapped up in fanciful words.  But – Serena has never been one to pretend, and never minces her sentences, especially when addressing someone like Silver Lamprey Cornelius.

Sil just blinks, shrugs, and reaches into her clutch to pull out several bills.  When Finnick sees them, he slaps his hand down on hers and says, “Are you trying to make me look bad?  What part of the word ‘date’ don’t you understand?  I’m paying.”  She just rolls her eyes.

“Gracious, Finnick, you must be the most stubborn man alive.  Stop acting like you’re a million years old and let a woman pay for your drink.”  She huffs for good measure and Serena, who has started making their hot cocoas, smirks.

“Finnick’s our resident gentleman,” Serena says idly, stirring some melted chocolate into a pan of hot milk.  “He doesn’t look it, but underneath all that charm is a surprisingly respectful man.” 

In response, Finnick purses his lips, as if he thinks Serena is somehow undermining his reputation.  Sil just laughs, a light airy chortle that makes him glance over at her curiously.  Huh.  Has her laugh always been so pleasant, or is it just the happiness of being home again that alters it?

“Well, no one’s perfect,” Finnick sniffs, and Sil pats his arm consolably.

“Oh I don’t know.  With a face like yours, I think you come pretty close,” she winks, and Serena shakes her head at the banter.  Finnick’s charming smile is back at full force and he nudges Sil playfully, though inside he’s wondering why it suddenly feels so natural being with her like this.  Walking around his home town really must be messing with his common sense.

“You’re from District 1?” Serena asks, even though she already knows.  Sil is a famous Victor and everyone knows who she is and where she’s from.  Serena glances at the elegant face, the pile of shocking blonde hair, the twinkling eyes.  She’s seen Sil before, but never in person.  There is something very striking about her.  It is more subtle than mere beauty.  Hard to place too.  It’s in her presence, Serena thinks as she studies the foreign woman.  There is something magnetic about the way she holds herself, as if she is constantly drawing you in for reasons entirely her own.

“Long way from home,” Serena says casually after a moment, stirring the hot cocoa. 

She’s busy adding something that looks like cinnamon when Sil shrugs and says breezily, “Oh yes.  Well, I spend most of the year in the Capitol, so I suppose I really have two homes.  I enjoy travelling though.”  She rests her chin on one dainty hand and watches the chocolate melt with an almost lazy, catty expression.

Finnick glances at her and doesn’t comment, even though inside he’s wondering why anyone would ever consider the Capitol a second home.  Even the Victors, who are forced to spend several months there each year and all own apartments in the wealthy neighborhoods wouldn’t think of the city in such an amiable manner.  But then Sil is different from the other Victors.  Different from…well, everyone really.

“Ah,” Serena murmurs, wisely skipping over Sil’s words and focusing on the latter part of her sentence.  “I’ve never been to District 1.  Seen pictures though.  Ain’t like 4 at all.”  She turns around to get two large mugs.  One is chipped a little on the rim.  Sil pretends not to notice.

“Oh gracious no,” she says with a trickling laugh, “It’s nothing at all like District 4 – dear me!  Is that red pepper?!”  She leans forward against the glass, eyes wide and trained to the little canister that Serena is now shaking into the pot.  That’s chipped, too.

Beside her, Finnick chuckles and says good-naturally, “Wait till you try it, Silver.  There’s nothing in the world like our hot cocoa.”  He winks and she raises an eyebrow like she doesn’t believe him.

“Finely grounded,” Serena explains, and tells her, “You haven’t really lived until you have spiced hot chocolate.  Here, try it.” 

The mugs are filled and Sil takes hers, wrapping chilled fingers around the warm ceramic.  Somehow in the dim light, the chipped mug is nothing short of endearing, and when she takes a hesitant sip of the strange drink, she very nearly moans at the delicious quality of the chocolate.  Who knew that red pepper would taste so good?  This woman, she decides, is an absolute genius.

“Mmm…” she hums, then says, “It’s delicious.  I’m thoroughly impressed.”  Not a lie.  Finnick’s eyes beam as if he is telling her ‘I told you so’.  She smiles demurely back, batting her eyelashes just a little because she knows it makes him annoyed.

Serena laughs and gives a proud nod.  “It’s been a District 4 custom for decades now.  They used to say that it could make you fall in love.  Something about the pepper going straight to your heart.”

Finnick chokes a little on his cup and sends Serena a glower, not appreciating even the thought of falling in love with someone like Sil.  The mere mention of that legend is ridiculous anyway and he knows Serena is only bringing it up because she’s curious about their relationship.  Then again, so is the entirety of Panem.

Fortunately, Sil doesn’t seem to put much stock into the old wive’s tale and makes a face.  “Gracious, that sounds dangerous,” she mutters, and doesn’t say another word about it, for which Finnick is eternally grateful.

Having the words ‘love’ and ‘Silver Lamprey Cornelius’ in the same sentence is dangerous in and of itself, after all.

“What are you two planning for the rest of the night?” Serena asks casually, resting her elbows on the countertop.  She seems to have given up her brief search for information – which Finnick is also grateful for.  Then again, Serena has always been the sort of woman who minds her own business and doesn’t get upset if she’s not allowed into the latest gossip. 

Sil glances at Finnick with one eyebrow poised, wondering the same thing.  She honestly wouldn’t mind just returning to that grand house of his and relaxing…but the Capitolite version of her would most likely prefer going out on the town.  She’d leave it up to him to decide their fate, and waits.

He shrugs.  “I did have one idea…though I’m not sure _Miss Cornelius_ will like it.”  The drawl of her name has that eyebrow inching higher.

“Do tell,” she sniffs, not sure if she even wants to know or not.  He’s probably hoping that she’ll hate his idea, just to enjoy seeing her upset.  Except…his idea really isn’t so bad, once she hears it. 

Finnick winks at her and leans in closer, one elbow propped on the counter as one hand slides casually into his trouser pocket.  “How does a moonlit boat ride sound to you, sugar?”  Sil immediately laughs, mostly because she finds his pet names amusing.

“It sounds cold,” she tells him honestly.  She’s wrapped up in his larger jacket, and she’s still shivering even inside.  Her home in District 1 is always hot.  There are no sea breezes wafting up from the ocean.  No cloudy grey skies threatening to pour rain and snow on them.  She is not used to the cold, and she doesn’t like it either.  But Finnick only smiles down at her and tilts his head to the side.

“Hmm…what can we do about that I wonder?  I think there’s a boutique down the road that’s still open.”  His words surprise her.  Sil stares at him blankly, half wondering if he’s going crazy or if he’s really _that_ invested in this strange little roleplay of theirs.

She pauses, weighing the two sides of her.  Silver Lamprey Cornelius would jump at the offer.  Sil might too, if only because she’s never ridden on a boat before.  But right now, at night, in this cold weather?  Better to wait for the daytime.  Except…Silver Lamprey Cornelius wouldn’t think that far ahead.  She wouldn’t delay such an opportunity.  So she just tips her head back and falls into her role, to become silly and thoughtless, to simper and ask daintily, “…Is this boutique designer?”

Her fate is sealed the moment Finnick rolls his eyes and drags her to the door.  She hardly manages to send Serena a stupid wave before she’s being plunged back into the chilly streets of District 4…and Finnick Odair’s world.  A world she can’t seem to untangle herself from no matter how hard she tries.

 


	9. Which crest my heart and soul -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which a moonlight boat ride is not as romantic as Sil imagines, Finnick gets a good laugh at her expense, and they spend a faux romantic day together.
> 
> I've put another gif of Dove at the bottom, cause I feel like Sil has a similar presence about her. If people don't want me to, then I'll stick to gifs of Finnick. Just let me know - I don't want the gifs to take anything away from your imagination regarding what Sil looks/acts like! It's important! ;) If no one mentions anything, then I'll assume you're all okay with it.
> 
> As per usual, next update will be Tuesday. Please enjoy - I had a lot of fun writing the boat ride scene!

 

**Chapter Nine | Which crest my heart and soul**

" _I swore to you, once, that my life was yours. For months now it has been your plaything…it has served its purpose." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

Half an hour later, and decked out in a brand new coat, Sil ambles happily beside Finnick on their way to the docks. His jacket has been returned to him, replaced by a thick woolen trench coat that seems a little too subdued for a woman like Silver Lamprey Cornelius. All black, with round silver buttons with mermaids stamped on their surfaces. He thinks she looks rather nice in it, personally. There hadn't been very many options anyhow, at least not as many as she is probably used to.

To call the store a boutique had been a partial lie, really, to lure her into it. He thinks that Silver wouldn't have gone had she known what sort of regular customers the shop gets: humble seafarers looking for a new pair of heavy work gloves or some such thing to get them through the day. But since District 4 has quite a few well known Victors, many people around town call the shop The Boutique as a joke. Sil, at least, looks pleased with the quality of the items – all handmade, he had baited, and look at the price! – and doesn't complain as she loops her arm around his and eagerly pulls him to the docks.

"What sort of boats do you have, Finnick darling? Cruise ships? Motor boats? I've always wanted to ride a motor boat – oh."

Her excitement falls short. This is a dock all right. But there is no motor boat in sight. Only canoes and row boats and a couple big wooden fishing ships. There is nothing glamorous about it.

Finnick hides an amused smile in the collar of his jacket and clears his throat. His expression is clear and charming when Sil turns to look at him, eyes wide and insisting.

"What's wrong? …Oh dear. You didn't think we'd actually be going out in a  _motor_   _boat_ , did you?" he gives her a pouty look just for her benefit and then grins half a moment later, clearly unable to hold it in place. "Don't worry, Silver. Row boats are more romantic anyhow. Come on." Before she can complain – more romantic?! How?! – he's pulling her to one of the little boats and bending over the ropes.

"This is mine. Had her for years now, before my Games even," he tells her, and a part of her peaks in interest. Everybody knows the story of Finnick Odair's Games. They were inspirational to the Capitol. The way he'd been able to charm the audience into sending him a trident – and then trap the other tributes in nets to be speared.

It had been ruthless, more than her Games had been. She hadn't been cruel, only tactical. But Finnick did what he had to do to come out alive and then paid for it, because in the process of winning over every person in the Capitol, he ended up being forced to sell his soul. Yes, she had heard the story. But she wonders what his side of it is. What he'd felt, what he'd thought…just…what he'd done. Is it strange for her to want to know? The circumstances of their union are not ideal, but she finds that she still cares for him as another human being.

"You're thinking," Finnick's voice cuts through her, and Sil is pulled back to the present…and into a pair of light green eyes that seem to see everything she is. She's very glad they don't, really. "That's odd. You're not supposed to know how to do that," he murmurs, half playful half serious, and Sil huffs and rolls her eyes.

"Honestly, Finnick," she mutters, eyeing the boat and then him with a disdainful gaze. "I'm not a dog. And I'm not getting on that tiny rowboat. What would people say?"

He stares at her for a good minute, and then stands up and grabs her elbow, bringing her to the edge of the pier. "It was part of the deal, Silver. I buy you a coat and you go on a boat ride with me. I don't particularly like being around you either, but we have to make this relationship look authentic or Snow isn't going to be happy. Now get in the boat, we'll ride around for a little bit, and I'll bring you home."

He speaks to her as a father would a child, and the real, intelligent, dignified parts of her sting at the insult. But, unable to do anything about it, she just heaves a heavy sigh and lets him help her into the shaky wooden bowel. He soon follows, folding himself down at the helm before taking the oars and expertly pushing them off of dock and into the sea.

He maneuvers them around several other boats that float nearby, buoyed to the docks and waiting their owners come morning. Sil tries to get comfortable in the hard seat, and fails, so she just peers over the edge of the rowboat and into the gloomy water. It's pitch black and endless; a wall of darkness that separates them from the world below. The moon seems to scatter over the dense color, alighting it with broken shards of light. By the time they're out of the dock and into open waters, Sil is rethinking this little trip, and not because of the meager boat. It's frightening down there, like looking into a black mirror and seeing every evil flaw that's ever graced a person. It suckers her down, shows a world that she has never known, and that's a little bit scary.

"What's down there?" she finds herself asking before she can curb the curiosity. Does she really want to know? She glances up at Finnick, who hasn't even broken a sweat despite the workout he's getting at the oars, and finds him watching her silently.

At her question, he shrugs, lips pursing as if contemplating – or fighting a smile. She gives him the benefit of the doubt. Probably shouldn't, knowing what sort of trickster he is inside.

"Oh you know…" he begins with absolute seriousness painted on his face, "sharks, probably. We've got real big ones in District 4. Lots of accidents happen every year because of fishermen falling into the water. And sometimes we even get the odd kraken. Those are nasty beasts."

Sil sits up with a frown. "Kraken? What's that?" It sounds ominous.

"Giant octopus," Finnick tells her breezily, as if this knowledge is common. "Capable of sinking huge ships. Last year, we had a fisherman go out after dark in one of the bigger vessels – it's safer, but it tends to attract them like moths to flame. Didn't hear from the man again, and a week later pieces of wood came floating up to the shore. We sent men out, but never found the body. I guess the kraken likes meat."

She freezes, staring at him with wide eyes. His expression remains utterly serious, even sorrowful. Fear grips her coldly when he slowly warns, "Just – don't swim at night. That's when they hunt." She lifts her hand away from the water, where it's been dangling, and stuffs her fingers into her lap.

A part of her is doubtful, of course. She always is whenever he speaks. But this dark water frightens her and she's never been so close to it before. She studies him, looking for signs of deception, but finds nothing in his face. Finnick is a good actor. So good that she can't tell if he's pulling the wool over her eyes.

"…Then why are you taking me out at night?" she slowly asks, raising an eyebrow at him. What, is he going to dump her over the side of the boat and leave her to drown? Suddenly this whole situation is very sketchy. And it would be extremely easy to do.

Finnick's mouth twitches almost imperceptivity, but Sil happens to be very perceptive. She notices and frowns at him. "You're lying, aren't you? That isn't funny, Finnick, you know I'm not knowledgeable about these kinds of things – oh!" The boat suddenly hits a wave that neither of them are expecting, and they careen into the sides of their little vessel. Water splashes up over the edge and dampens Sil's clothes, but she's too afraid to care about the state of them.

"Careful," Finnick says soothingly, reaching forward to steady her by placing one hand on her small shoulder. "We don't want to capsize. Maybe I stretched the truth about krakens, but there really are sharks in these waters, and they are nighttime hunters." Sil turns fearful eyes to him and scowls. He looks 100% genuine right now, incapable of telling even the smallest lie.

"For God's sake, Finnick, take me back to the docks," she demands. This is scarier than going up against Snow or staying undercover or dealing with Felix and his disgusting roving hands – this is fear of the unknown. Something she's never faced before. She wants out.

"Why?" he asks, "Are you frightened? We're safe as long as we stay in the boat." He watches her eyes with nothing short of gleeful amusement, but keeps that carefully tucked away out of notice. There aren't any sharks in these waters. Finnick's never even seen a shark before. The only things in these waters are fish and seaweed, but it's so fun watching her eat up his every word.

Another big wave hits the boat, sending them back a few feet and rocking the edges of it like wind rustling barren trees. Sil clenches her hands on the sides, knuckles white as she gauges the distance between the boat and the dock. Not very far, really. With the waves pushing them back into the harbor, they could make it in a few minutes.

"Maybe I am frightened," she tells him, a crass admittance. So much for a romantic moonlit ride. This is a hell in and of itself.

When he doesn't respond right away, Sil impatiently stands up right in the center of the boat, and Finnick lunges forward with real concern and exclaims, "Sit down - !"

But it's a little too late for that. Another wave crashes into the boat, and she is displaced, taking a tumble right into the murky moonlit water that's apparently infested with sharks and krakens and maybe other evil things too, that would make her skin crawl.

A shriek leaves her lips, cut off by salty brine that makes her choke. She splashes, trying to keep her head above the water, but her movements are flimsy at best, and inhibited by the heavy clothes she's wearing. She is pulled down…and then a hand is grabbing at the back of her coat and dragging her back up, and she's gasping for air the moment she breaks the surface.

Finnick's worried face looms over the side of the boat. He's half hanging out of it. His jacket is gone and his sleeve and half his shirt is sopping wet. He pulls her back to the edge and says gently, "Okay, come here. Now pull yourself up, that's it." Somehow, with his help, she manages to hook her knee over the side of the boat and tumble back into it, landing awkwardly in Finnick's lap. He doesn't appear to mind, only weaves his fingers over her hair to calm her down.

She coughs up salt water, feeling really very fatigued even though the whole situation lasted only a few minutes. And – frightened. Which is why a moment later, Sil is throwing herself into Finnick's arms and burying her head against his chest in what is probably a rather pathetic embrace. But she can't help it, and Finnick only sighs and wraps his arms around her, rubbing her back and absorbing every shiver that wracks through her.

They stay like that for a while, rocking in that tiny little row boat, until Sil tiredly says, "I'm glad the sharks weren't around…" And Finnick, more than just a little amused by the words, can't help himself from bursting into laughter. She pulls back with a frown and a shard of bright intelligence in her eyes, and mutters, "…There aren't any sharks here…are there?" Accusation is heavy in her voice.

Finnick shakes his head with a grin, still chuckling. She glares at him. Then she hits him, and her punches are a lot harder than Finnick expects from such a tiny, pathetic little Victor.

"Ow!" he exclaims, rubbing his shoulder. That's definitely going to bruise. He glowers at her and she glowers right back, meeting him halfway. "I was just having some fun," he mumbles like a boy who's been scolded by his mother.

Sil rolls her eyes and snarls, "I was scared out of my mind, Finnick. I've never been in a boat before and you tell me all these stories about sharks and – and krakens! How could you?!" Well. When she puts it that way…

He sighs and wraps his arms around her again, tucking her face against his shoulder and murmuring, "I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd stand up like that. Next time will be better, I promise."

She wrangles herself away so that she can stare up at him with a frown. In her anger, she doesn't even notice that there are only a scant few inches between them. But Finnick certainly does, and he looks down at her curiously, studying the slender, upturned nose, the big doe-like eyes, the pouty lips…

He's never thought of Silver Lamprey Cornelius as beautiful before. She isn't exotically beautiful. Her features are petit and attractive, but it isn't the physical aspects of her that he takes notice of now. There is something magnetic about her that draws people in. Classical beauty, Finnick thinks as he studies the high cheekbones and her tangle of wet hair that wisps around her face.

And in this moment, in the middle of the water and perhaps the first time they are genuinely alone and not being buffered about by cameras and reporters…in this moment Finnick feels that dragging magnetism pull him in, capture him like a selkie on the beach. And though he won't be aware of it for a while yet, it is in this moment that Finnick feels the very first crackle of desire for her. True and authentic and baffling.

"No way," she's saying, and Finnick blinks. "I'm never getting on a boat again. Not for the rest of my life." He slowly grins, a lazy sort of smile that makes her frown all the harder, because she knows it to be a sign that he's about to sweep her words under the carpet and ignore the threat in them.

"Let's not be hasty," he says with a smirk, his green eyes shining. "I'll get you on a boat again, trust me. Next time maybe a morning ride? With the seagulls and the wind and the dawn on the horizon…that doesn't sound so bad, does it?" Maybe not, she sullenly thinks, but she isn't going without making things difficult for him…a trait that she has found herself to be quite skilled at.

"Just take me back, Finnick. I'm positively exhausted," she sighs, and relaxes back into him just because. She tells herself it's to make him annoyed, but that's a lie. It's really because she finds comfort in him for some odd reason. Maybe it's the fright still coldly sinking through her, maybe the frigid water. Maybe, an insidious voice whispers at her, it's the fact that despite their officially unofficial relationship status, Finnick feels safe. She doesn't know, but what she does know is that it isn't making him annoyed. Finnick doesn't even seem to mind having her tucked against him. He just chuckles and lifts the oars back into the place, then drawls, "Hold on tight, sugar." She scoffs quietly into his shoulder but doesn't take offense – only does as he says and holds tighter, unwilling to budge.

As he pushes them back to the harbor, Finnick muses, "This turned out to be more romantic than I thought. Rescuing damsels in distress is always good for the alibi." Sil just rolls her eyes, though he can't see. She loses herself in the way his muscles contract with every pull of the oars. Perhaps he's right, but she'll be the last to admit it.

"Oh do shut up," she mumbles, and closes her eyes. But she can't close her thoughts, or her heart, which is suddenly unfolding and refolding into another's, getting hopelessly lost in the beat of his as she curls herself against a man who has held many women, but never one quite like her.

* * *

When she wakes up the next morning, Sil is surrounded by thick blankets and the heady warmth of sunlight pouring down through the gossamer curtains. She turns, buries her head in soft pillows, and then freezes as memories catapult into her head. Finnick. The boat ride. The way she'd clung to him even after they'd reached land. She wasn't embarrassed about that. She was actually more angry than embarrassed, because of his awful idea of humor. She'd almost drowned and he had been  _chuckling_  even as he'd rowed them back.

She throws the blankets away and pulls at the memories, trying to recall how she got to bed. Why is everything so fuzzy? Has the adrenaline of her near-death experience gone to her head? And, more importantly, how had she gotten into these nice, warm pajamas? She can't remember putting them on herself. Which means that some questions are in order.

She stands up and patters off to the bathroom to splash some water on her face. She looks normal. Not half drowned. That's good. After she brushes her teeth and wraps her robe around her, Sil sets her shoulders back and steps out of her room to brave the storm that is Finnick Odair.

She finds him in the kitchen, sitting at the counter. He's already dressed in comfortable looking sweatpants (that still look divine on his figure, somehow), and there's a bowl of cereal in front of him. When she enters the room, he barely gives her a glance. Most of his attention is focused on a newspaper he's got sprawled out in front of him. Must be local, because it's pretty small.

"Morning, sugar," he greets idly, and goes back to reading. Sil stares at him for a moment. When he doesn't look up again, she huffs and walks forward, slapping her hand down on the passage he's so wrapped up in. Finally, Finnick turns his attention to her with bright, laughing eyes, as if he knows why she's so worked up.

"Something wrong, darling?" he asks anyway, as if he's a husband inquiring into his wife's mood.

Sil ignores the innuendo in his smile and raises an eyebrow. "Did you put me into these clothes last night?"

Finnick leans forward, resting his chin on his palm and lazily blinking at her. He has the appearance of a cat that's being scolded – a cat that absolutely doesn't give a shit. With a shrug, he tells her, "You were sleeping so soundly I didn't want to wake you up. Should I have left you to sleep in wet clothes?"

She pauses, frowning at him. "You should've woken me up, Finnick. That would have made actual sense." She emphasizes the last word like she thinks he's stupid. Well maybe she does.

But Finnick, who always seems so careless and blasé, only shrugs again and lifts her wrist away from the newspaper. He sets it a foot away and raises his spoon to his mouth. As he chews, he says, "Don't be such a prude, Sil. I've undressed so many women that you're just one in a million. Nothing special." He eats another spoonful and doesn't seem to notice the insult of his own words. But, knowing Finnick, he's well aware of it – and of Sil's reaction even though he isn't looking at her directly.

"Well. You certainly know how to make a girl feel beautiful," she mutters, shivering a little at the thought of Finnick undressing her. Talk about a breach of privacy. Wait till she gets him into her house, she thinks, plotting darkly as she searches for her own breakfast. Getting back at him for everything that happened last night will be her pleasure.

As she raids his refrigerator, Sil clicks her tongue and says airily, "My my. You're sorely lacking in nutrient-rich foods, Finnick Odair. Do you know how many calories that cereal has? I should make you a shake. A model like you should really have better eating habits." She smiles to herself as she reaches for some eggs, then proceeds to separate the whites from the yolks. Finnick doesn't even look up.

"I get my exercise in," is all he says, and she blanches at the insinuation he's making. Exercise? Is that what he thinks of his clients? She chooses not to answer and instead just sighs. The so-called 'magic' of last night has definitely disappeared. They are back on the same level, in which the only magic to be found is the profound surprise of just how much they are annoyed by the other.

She breezes through making her egg white omelet, then goes to toss the yolks in the garbage - because yes it's a waste but she's Silver Lamprey Cornelius and she does thoughtless things like that.

Finnick stops her before she can, though, by practically jumping up and exclaiming, "What are you doing?!" And she freezes, bowl of egg yolks in hand as she turns to give Finnick an insipid stare.

He shakes his head and stares at the ceiling, like he's praying for patience. "Okay. I've decided what we're doing today," he says after a moment of this, and walks up to her. The newspaper is abandoned on the countertop. He takes the bowl from her hands and sets it back on the counter, then wordlessly goes to rustle around in a cabinet beneath the stove. When he stands back up, he's holding two aprons. Sil watches him in confusion.

"Here," he says, handing one to her. She just looks at it. He heaves another impatient sigh and walks over to her, thrusting the apron over her head and wrapping his arms around her waist to tie it in the back. She's so surprised that she can only stare up at him with wide eyes, unused to the close proximity and remembering all those unsteady memories from last night. It's unfair and confusing. What's he doing?

"I'll teach you how to make the best lemon curd ever," he tells her with a wink, leaning closer just because he can see how uncomfortable she is with him hovering over her like this. Sil, who secretly happens to be a fairly good cook, just puffs out her cheeks like a child – while Silver Lamprey Cornelius, who isn't supposed to know how to do anything at all, pretends like she doesn't even know what lemon curd is.

"We're cooking?" she asks blandly, like the very thought of it bores her to tears. "Why ever would we do that? We have a maid to do that stuff." A maid who, coincidentally, only comes in the early mornings to drop off groceries, and cleans the house when they're not around to be bothered by the sound of a vacuum. Rich people.

Finnick chuckles like he finds her cute (he actually just thinks she's being whiny), and puts his own apron on. "We'll take pictures, like a good couple. It'll be romantic." Sil scowls at the thought of putting up pictures of her and Finnick wearing these frilly aprons. Still, it's not a bad idea. Snow will probably like it.

"Where did you even get these things, anyway?" she demands, changing the topic and tugging at one of the frills. He's busy pulling ingredients out of the cabinets, but when Finnick glances over at her, there's a mischievous gleam in his eye that doesn't bode well.

"Photo shoot. In the nude. Sexy cook theme, you know? People ate it up. Haha, get it?" he laughs at the way her face pales.

She immediately starts untying it with a disgusted sneer. "Gracious. Are you saying you wore this  _naked_  - ?"

He's prancing toward her before she has the chance to take the apron off, and swats her with a hand towel playfully. "Hey, most women would jump at the chance to wear clothes that my unmentionables have touched. You don't even know how lucky you are right now!" He smirks and says, "Come to think of it, you really are lucky. You're staying at my house, you get to kiss me, and we're even cooking together – I never cook a woman breakfast you know. I bet there are a lot of jealous people out there who have you on hit lists."

Sil just rolls her eyes and mutters, "You've got a complex, my love. I suppose you've already forgotten how famous  _I_ am. I have year long wait lists of men who want to go out with me. We could argue over who's more popular all day, darling – let's just get this over with so I can soak in the tub."

Finnick winks. "Oh? A girlfriend would extend an invitation to join in."

This time, she's the one who swats him with the hand towel, but not nearly as playfully. They spend the morning making lemon curd and taking stupid pictures of their 'romantic' time together. The moment it's over, Finnick returns to his newspaper and Sil goes upstairs to take a bath. And like the 'romantic' couple they are, they don't see each other for the rest of the day until dinner, when Sil comes flouncing down the stairs after a day of relaxing and recuperating from the horrendous time she'd had the night before.

Honestly, at this point, she thinks that Finnick Odair will be the absolute death of her.


	10. That haunts me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which a trip to the supposedly romantic shack falls utterly short - but a small dinner party seems to make up for it in ways Sil does not anticipate. 
> 
> Thank you all again for the reviews, kudos, and bookmarks. They really mean a lot to me. Please enjoy this chapter! The next time Sil will be in District 4, she'll be doing the one thing that scares her more than anything...but there's quite a few events that need to happen before then ;)

**Chapter Ten | That haunts me**

 

_“The very joy of living was writ plainly upon the sweet young face, it sparkled out of the merry blue eyes and lit up the smile that lurked around the lips.  She was after all but five-and-twenty, in the hey day of youth, the darling of a brilliant throng, adored, féted, petted, cherished.”  Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

 

Two days pass.  Finnick brings her out on the town every evening, catching the public’s eye.  People don’t stare and whisper and point as much as they had before.  They recognize the two Victors.  It’s almost as if Sil has become a part of their district.  A strange feeling, to be sure, and not one she expects.  Being accepted has never been familiar ground for her. 

But despite her slightly less than civil relationship with the charming District 4 Victor, she does feel accepted when he takes her hand and drags her around his home.  He points out landmarks, memories of his childhood, stops to talk with people he knows.  Merchants, fishermen, dock workers – you name it, Finnick knows them all personally.  By the end of the first few days, Sil starts to believe that his so-called charm is actually the real thing.

He doesn’t get the chance to take her out on another boat.  (Just as well, she’d refuse anyway.)  However, he does live up to his one promise to her.  One morning she wakes up to the smell of his cooking and when she trounces down the stairs with her disheveled hair and sleepy green eyes, Finnick tells her that he’s taking her to their romantic little shack on the shore.  She had nearly forgotten about that particular conversation on the very first day of their silly fake relationship.  When it had become _their_ shack, she doesn’t know, but she can’t deny that she’s excited to make the trip.

It’s about two miles up the coast.  Sil wears designer boots and the heavy wool coat Finnick bought her days before.  She complains about the lengthy trek every other step, but inside she’s enjoying herself.  The salty sea air whispers at her, makes her feel oddly alive.  She wonders if it is a normal response or just one of her own fabrication. 

Finnick serenades her with stories as they walk, though it’s probably only to shut out her complaints.  She doubts he really cares about entertaining her.  The only time he appears charming and devoted is in public.  It is one mask that he doesn’t even try to hide from her.  (Not that she really cares, of course.)  But in any case, they reach the little shack by noon, and it’s…well, it isn’t much to look at, but she can immediately picture Finnick coming here in his search for solitude.  Tranquil silence seems to pucker through the entire area, distilled by the tumbling sound of waves rolling over each other.  No one is around.

“Here we are,” Finnick says by way of introduction.  He starts off at a jog and reaches the site before her.  Sil watches him, the way his body moves, the firm muscles coiling as he sprints.  Attractive.  Masculine.  Not hers.  Never hers, she tells herself, and nods.  Why on earth would she have to tell herself that, anyway?  It isn’t as if she _wants_ him.  What an absurd thought!  She’d like to think she’s a little bit more original than all that, what with half the Capitol already drooling over the man.  She doesn’t need Capitol leftovers, a snide part of her sneers – and the rest of her, the good parts of her, recoils at the wickedness of the thought. 

“Come here and help me get firewood,” he calls over to her, already kneeling in front of a fire pit he must’ve built some time ago.  “There’s some piled up inside.  Should be dry.”  She gives him a surly glower and goes to the door of the shack.  Or there lack of. 

There’s no actual door, just a doorway that’s been covered by a thick tarp to keep the elements out.  She drags it open and glances around the small building.  It’s in awful condition.  There are holes in the ceiling and walls.  It looks barely put together, as if one harsh tug of the wind could blow the entire thing down.  A pile of wood has been stacked in the far corner, beside some fishing rods and a few empty buckets.  There’s one solitary piece of furniture in the shack – a rickety old chair that’s seen better days.  Not as impressive as she’d pictured, for sure.

When she steps back into the sand with a couple of logs balanced in her arms, Finnick looks utterly at peace.  She stands there for a moment, taking in the sight of him.  He’s kicked his shoes off, rolled up the legs of his pants, and is sitting in the sand.  His eyes are cast out to sea, his hair mussed and perfect (how does it always look perfect?) as he leans back on his hands.  She can’t see his face from her angle, but she imagines it’s pressed into a thoughtful, rare expression devoid of his usual mischief. 

“Here,” she says to announce her presence, and lowers the logs to the ground. 

He turns to her lazily, blinks, and then flops himself down into the sand with a bemoaned, “I’m too tired – you make the fire.” 

She stares, rather caught up in the way he looks as his eyes slip closed.  Perhaps it’s not so strange to find him handsome after all, because right now Finnick Odair is downright beautiful, sand and all.  She doesn’t immediately respond because she’s so surprised at the thought, and Finnick opens his eyes to cast her a curious glance.  Just in time, Sil’s features rearrange into a scowl that puts her firmly back on her own pedestal, the one of her own creation, and snidely asks, “You want _me_ to make the fire?”  Her eyes are perfectly incredulous, as if he’s asking her to throw a rope around the moon and drag it down for him.

He rolls his eyes.  “You’re a _Victor_.  Don’t you know how to start a fire?”  And he settles back down, this time drawing his arms over his head and resting them behind it.  He looks completely relaxed.

 _She_ looks completely annoyed.  “It’s been _seven years_ since my Games, darling.  I’m sure whatever I learned back then has been lost.”  She sits down before the circle of stones anyway, and starts throwing the wood into it without preamble.  “Besides, I mostly survived on sponsors.”  Beside her, Finnick makes a grunt that could be labeled as disapproving, if she had a mind to care. 

She _did_ mostly survive on sponsors.  She also knew how to make a fire, thank you very much, but she figures that appearing as idiotic as possible will only help her cover.  It isn’t very hard to do – Finnick already thinks she’s an idiot anyway, along with most of the Capitol and every one of the Victors.  He doesn’t look very surprised to hear of her latest failure, and sighs as he heaves himself up.

He bats her hands away and rearranges the wood over a pile of leaves and twigs, muttering to himself as he does.  Then he peers at her and says, “I don’t remember much of your Games.  Sometimes I forget you’re even a Victor at all.” 

He turns to dig through the leather satchel he’s brought, and Sil’s expression falters momentarily.  By the time he turns back with a lighter, there is no hint of that crumbling left to be seen.

Well.  She’d known what she was getting into when she had agreed to join the rebellion all those years ago.  She’d known that people wouldn’t take her seriously – she hadn’t _wanted_ them to.  It’s much easier to do her job when no one suspects her of having the intellectual inclination to do it.  But knowing and hearing are two different things, especially when the words are coming from Finnick’s lips.  But why should she want him to be proud of her?  Why should she want to matter to him? 

She shakes the delicate thoughts away for now and instead focuses on the first part of his sentence. 

With a hum, she leans back and murmurs, “My Games were dreadfully boring, really.  No spectacular deaths until the last few days.  But _your_ Games were really something else.”  She vaguely remembers watching them, back when she’d lived with her father in District 1, only a few years before she herself had gone into the arena. 

Finnick snorts in the back of his throat and sets the fire blazing.  His expression hints that he’d like very much to send other things blazing too – primarily, all thoughts of his Games. 

“Spectacular deaths?” he drawls, giving her a sort of cold look. 

She shrugs and tells him in a calm, steadfast way, “Don’t be an idiot, Finnick.  You know that’s what the Capitol wants.  It is a _strategy_ for the Tributes – unless of course they’re the ones dead.”

He stares, half caught between a frown and reluctant agreement.  He can’t help but think that Silver Lamprey Cornelius is really the _last_ person qualified to speak about strategy, but doesn’t say anything.  He just shakes his head and says, “Let’s not talk about the Games.” 

He suspects she is a little relieved to let the subject rest when she nods resolutely and asks, “What shall we talk about then?”  And he pauses, because…because for once in his life, Finnick Odair doesn’t know what to say. 

He flounders like a fish out of water, and Sil chuckles, “How about we discuss this charming dinner party you’ve planned out?  The one where I get to meet all your lovely little friends?”

He narrows his eyes on her and her not so subtle jab and flops back down into the sand, glowering up at the sky.  But he indulges her, as usual, and tells her all about it and what she should expect, and Sil sits there and listens to his voice careening over her like the waves that lap at the shore.  And for once, she is happy to just sit and listen, surrendering herself to the whims of this strange and inconceivable man.

* * *

 

The dinner party is definitely _not_ what she expects, regardless of how Finnick has prepared her for it.  There is no music, no lavish lounge to sip at fancy liquors and exchange gossip and idle humor.  No card games or gambling, no crowds of people.  Even the dinner itself is…less than what she’s used to.  Is she surprised to find that Finnick is planning on serving fish?  She realizes belatedly that she shouldn’t be.  It’s the only solid source of food in this district that doesn’t cost a fortune.

She spends the morning walking by herself around the Victor Village and the beach that lingers nearby.  It’s refreshing to get away from Finnick for a while, and all the faces she uses around him.  She spends about an hour by the sea, and by the time she turns back to make her way into the village, Sil understands a little bit more, about how Finnick is so connected to it.  It’s impossible not to _feel something_ when she looks out at the water.  It’s mysterious and beautiful; full of life but enigmatic; frank and honest, but puzzling.  Just like Finnick.

When Sil returns to Finnick’s house and lets herself in, he’s already bustling around the kitchen getting ready for dinner.  This time, he’s not wearing that ridiculous apron.  Instead, he’s just wearing a white button up and jeans.  The first few buttons are undone, hinting at the smooth chest beneath. 

He glances up when she enters and gives her a small smile that actually looks, for once, unforced.  “There you are.  Had a nice walk?” he wonders idly, and turns his eyes back down to the fish that he’s gutting.  Sil makes a face at the sight as she approaches.

“Yes…” she says, trailing off as she wrinkles her nose at the smell.  There’s a pile of bones and other (frankly disgusting) entrails in a bag next to him.  She doesn’t look too closely. 

“Do you ever eat anything other than fish?” she asks, and this time her voice is a little dry, a little bemused, like she’s silently laughing at him.

Finnick smirks, “Nope.  Do _you_ ever eat meat on any day that isn’t Wednesday?”

She barely even remembers that she’d said that, despite it having been only a few days ago.  With a laugh, Sil tells him, “Touché.” 

She walks over to the cabinets and pulls out a glass.  As she fills it with water from the tap, she glances at him and takes a brief moment to admire his profile.  Finnick is truly beautiful.  Straight nose, strong jaw, long eyelashes, attractive lips.  And his hair is something to be envious of – all that bronze, tripping over itself like so many waves. 

He can feel her staring at him.  She knows it too.  So she’s not at all surprised when Finnick murmurs flirtatiously, “Like what you see, sugar?”  He doesn’t even grace her with a glance.

Sil sighs dramatically, a puff of breath that gets muffled in her glass.  “You’re very handsome, Finnick.  As your fake girlfriend, I’m allowed to look.” 

He pauses, barely.  Sil wouldn’t have even noticed had she not been watching him already.  But he does, and she raises an eyebrow at the slight way his fingers fumble with the knife in his hand.  Has she surprised him?  Is she not allowed to joke about their ridiculous circumstances?  Has she somehow crossed a boundary she hadn’t known existed? 

But Finnick just gives a grunting sort of laugh beneath his breath and says, “I’m so glad you’re finally accepting your role in my life, Silver.” 

Sil frowns.  She walks forward and puts the glass down on the counter, then rests her chin in her hand and stares at him.  He glances back at her curiously, and her eyebrow raises further when she murmurs, “You look uncomfortable.  Should I have called you ugly instead?” 

It’s his turn to raise his eyebrow.  He rolls his eyes, “No point in lying, sugar.  I’m the most attractive man in Panem.  Capitol Weekly even did an article about how I style my hair.”  They stare at each other for a moment before Sil bursts into laughter, with Finnick not far behind.

“Why am I not surprised about that?” she asks after a moment, and Finnick chuckles.

“Now if we’re done talking about the fact that I’m gorgeous, make yourself useful and chop up those potatoes.”  He points to a bag of said potatoes and her smile immediately turns down at the edges, morphing into an impressive glower.

“Why should I?” she bemoans, reverting into the dramatic nature she plays so well.

Finnick rolls his eyes again and turns back to the fish.  He idly warns, “If you don’t, I’ll put my fishy fingers all over your face.”

She immediately pauses, narrows her eyes, and slowly says, “You wouldn’t.”

He totally would.  And when he tells her that a moment later, she huffs and gets to work, rolling up her sleeves and shooting him glowers every other minute.  His smirk widens every time she does, and they pepper the silence with small observations that could hardly be considered actual conversations.  The hour passes like this, and by the end of it, the fish is ready to cook and Finnick has started on making the potatoes that Sil diligently peeled and cut.  It is only then that she realizes he plans on deep frying them.

“Fish and chips?  _That’s_ what we’re having?” she asks.  She hadn’t exactly cared what they’d be eating before.  She supposed she’d figured it would be something a little bit classier than that.  Under her breath, she mutters, “It’s so _fattening_ …”

Finnick barks out a laugh as he heats the oil up for frying.  He opens the fridge and pulls out a bag of lettuce, then throws it to her from across the kitchen.  She snatches it from the air with a raised eyebrow, a little more gracefully than Finnick expects.  He would’ve liked to see her fumbling with it, to be honest.

“Make some salad then, if you’re so worried about your weight,” he tells her.  Inside he’s rolling his eyes at any and every comment ever made by the female population about getting fat – if there’s one thing Finnick loathes, it’s having to listen to such idiotic words. 

Sil huffs but doesn’t argue.  They were going to make a salad anyway to go with the food.  But for good measure, she says airily, “I don’t know why you don’t just have your housekeeper make dinner.”  It’s probably the third or fourth time she’s said something like that since she stepped inside an hour ago.

Finnick _does_ roll his eyes this time.  “Because her job is to clean my house and make sure it’s livable, not _babysit_ me.”  This isn’t the Capitol.  He doesn’t need someone to wait on him hand and foot.  Besides, cooking is probably one of the only things Finnick actually enjoys doing.

He snatches up a bit of carrot that Sil has just finished chopping and munches on it while he checks the temperature of the oil.  When he reaches for another one, Sil slaps his hand away with a short, “Don’t you dare, Finnick!  It took me ten minutes to prepare those!”  Because she’d been too busy sharing the recent gossip from the PADD she’s got propped up in front of her on the counter.

He chuckles breezily and says, “Well you’d better hurry up.  People are gonna start arriving soon.”  The warning makes her shoot up in surprise.

“But it’s only five o’clock!” she cries, glancing down in abject horror at the stains she’d gotten on her shirt.  All the dinner parties and soirees she’s ever been to started  _much_ later.

Finnick shrugs and says, “Mags is getting old.  Besides, five o’clock is a normal time to have a dinner party.”

“No it’s not!” Sil wails, inwardly laughing at the way Finnick cringes at the sound.  She throws down her knife and rushes out of the kitchen, leaving her PAAD on the counter and calling, “I have to change!  You should have told me sooner, you terrible excuse for a – a – damn it!  Did I bring my blue dress - ?”

Finnick is laughing loudly at the spectacle, and shouts back in amusement, “It’s _casual_ , Silver – you’d better not put a gown on or you’ll get some pretty weird looks!” 

Oh, he can just imagine her walking downstairs in some gorgeous but grossly over-dressed confection.  He laughs at the thought of the expressions she’d cultivate on Mags and Annie’s faces, and can’t stop smirking even as he decides that perhaps he ought to change his shirt too – there’s an oil stain on the sleeve that Sil will probably notice immediately, and he’d rather not have her scolding him in the middle of dinner.

He takes two steps before he belatedly realizes that she’s left her PAAD behind.  Sil carries that thing around with her like it’s an extension of her soul, so he thinks it’s odd she would forget it like this.  He pauses, glances at the stairs, and then sidles over to it with a curiously contemplative look on his face.  The glowing screen is still flickering with gossipy updates from the Capitol.

_President Snow seen with granddaughter in La Tempête –_

_New fashion line rumored to be underway from designer Charles Beau –_

_Star-Crossed lovers Everdeen and Mellark return home to District 12 –_

_Victors Odair and Cornelius canoodling together on two week vacation –_

Finnick pauses and raises an eyebrow.  Sil hadn’t made any mention of this particular article.  But there they are, pressed together in a picture that probably has half the Capitol in an uproar.  It’s the day on the beach.  Sil’s white silk dress is soaked with sea water and Finnick’s holding her shoes in one hand and her waist in the other.  And – is he actually _smiling?_   No, it’s most likely the glare of the sun.  It had been particularly bright that day…

He’s so swept up in staring at the image of them kissing that he hardly notices the subtle flash of some new notification coming in.  He opens it in blank silence, subtly curious about who Sil communicates with despite the fact that he knows he’s invading some level of privacy by doing so.  But it’s nothing – just some strange spam mail that drifts over the screen, _“Birds fly south for the winter.  Hibernate.”_  

Finnick raises an eyebrow at the weird message and checks the sender.  It’s just a bunch of numbers though, and he mentally categorizes it as a mistake as he puts the PAAD down.  He glances at his shirt and sighs.

Finnick leaves the PAAD and the still cooking fries while he sprints upstairs to grab a shirt, hurrying because he doesn’t want them to overcook.  A small scramble around in his room gives him time to toss his old shirt on his bed and slide his arms into the new, crisp one.  He steps back into the hallway hardly thirty seconds later as he buttons it up and happens to glance idly toward Sil’s room…only to see something he perhaps…does not expect.

He doesn’t know why he doesn’t expect it.  He knows that Sil is changing.  He just doesn’t know why he stands there gawking in a very un-Finnick-like way just because her door is open a crack and he can see –

He shakes it head and turns away, jaw clenched tightly.  When he blinks, she is pressed into his sight, haunting him with the image of her bending over her desk chair in nothing but her underwear, sliding stockings up her legs.  He tells himself that the sight of her really isn’t why he’d stared – it had been the scar he could see that had shocked him so much, the scar that traveled from her hip down the back of her thigh – but for some reason, he can’t help but wonder…does he perhaps find her _attractive?_

“Ridiculous,” he mutters as he makes his way down the stairs.  His hands drift through his hair to push it back.  Halfway down, he realizes that the fries are still in the oil and he rushes the rest of the way into the kitchen, shoving the thought of Silver Lamprey Cornelius from his mind.  Unfortunately, it is a lot harder than he could ever have imagined, which he notices when at last she slides back down the stairs, the picture of refined elegance.

Well.  It isn’t a ball gown, so Finnick can’t complain.  He takes one look at her and stares, until he realizes he’s staring and of course turns his eyes away sternly because he can’t seem to shake the _image of her_ –

“Well?  What do you think?” Sil asks him, spinning in a little circle.  Her skirt flutters around her knees, drawing his attention to her legs.  Her stockings shimmer and he wonders what they feel like against her skin…and then blanches, because he must be really insane to actually think about such things.  _With Sil._   He turns away again and shrugs, swallowing the lump in his throat.  What is _wrong_ with him?

She takes his silence as an answer and raises an eyebrow, hip jutting out and arms crossed, “You don’t like it?  Is it too dressy?  Darling, _do_ try to speak.  I need constructive criticism here.”  She stares at him and he sighs.

“It’s fine, Silver,” he insists, and a part of him is actually being completely honest.  He likes the dress.  It’s a silky fabric like the one she’d worn on the train a week ago, but instead of shiny white, this dress is a grayish blue color.  It’s actually fairly simple in its construction – nothing at all like some of the gowns he’s seen her in.  The color rather reminds him of the ocean on a stormy day.  Sort of dangerous, in a subtle, crafty way.  He won’t tell her all this of course, he’s got a reputation to uphold – and he definitely won’t tell her that he prefers her hair down.  The style she’d chosen is far too precise and elegant.  He likes the mussed up, wild way her hair often falls, but something tells him that saying this is probably crossing one of the many lines splintered between them.

She nods, happily accepting the words at face value and looking around the house.  From the kitchen, one could just see the dining room table jutting out in the next room.  It’s covered in a linen tablecloth but that’s about it, so Sil makes it her job to set the rest of it with plates and utensils and such.  She starts riffling through his cabinets as Finnick subtly watches her, still trying to figure out why he can’t stop thinking about her pulling those stockings up her legs.  It’s a little inappropriate really, and it bothers him.

“Oh, there!” she suddenly exclaims, seeing a set of nice porcelain plates on the top of the shelf.  They’re the only porcelain he has in this house – some extravagant gift he’d received during his Victory Tour years ago.  Come to think of it, he’s almost positive he’d gotten them while he’d been touring in District 1.  Figures that Sil would be automatically attracted to anything from her luxurious district.  What a creature she is.

Finnick smirks at her, watching as she tries to reach the tall shelf and failing spectacularly.  She might’ve succeeded, had she been wearing a pair of her ridiculously tall high heels, but as it is she’s got no hope.  And as amusing as it is to watch her flail around like that, Finnick decides to put her out of her misery.

He steps forward, gently pushing her into the counter as he reaches up to grasp the plates.  She immediately falls silent, not speaking until he sets the stack on the counter and moves away a fraction.  Then Sil glances back at him, looking delightfully confused, and opens her mouth wordlessly.  After a moment of gaping like a fish (a good analogy, Finnick thinks with a smirk), she settles with, “Why do you keep your best porcelain on the top shelf?”  As if it’s a crime to hide away such lovely things.

He shrugs, watches as she takes the stack of plates into arms that seem too delicate, and drawls, “I doubt I’d use them, sugar.”

She sends him a condescending glower at the nickname and walks into the dining room.  Another beat of silence passes between them before she calls back, “These are from District 1, you know.”

Of course she’d pick that up.  He rolls his eyes and starts seasoning the fries.  “I’m aware.  Does it make you happy that I have something from your home district in my house?”  The question is sarcastic, really, but Sil answers it with a strangely brutal honesty that makes him tilt his head.

“Yes!” she smiles, ducking back into the kitchen.  Her new search begins and ends with the linen drawer as she gathers cloth napkins.  “It shows that there’s hope for you yet, my love.  Now we just need to get you some proper napkins,” she _tsks_ disapprovingly, closely examining the napkins that Finnick had also been gifted with, though he can’t remember where or when.  All he knows is that he would never bother to go out and buy cloth napkins himself.

He glances at her.  “What’s wrong with my napkins?”

The look she sends him makes him feel like he’s just asked her the difference between the sun and the moon.  She laughs incredulously and says, “The embroidery on the edges is coming apart.  From the looks of them, they’ve been washed too harshly.  You have to be gentle with embroidered things, darling, or else they unravel.”  She goes on to list a number of other faults that his napkins have as she meanders back into the dining room to lay them out, and Finnick frowns.  Who knew there could be so many things wrong with a simple napkin?  Leave it to Sil to notice every flaw.

Luckily, Finnick is saved from Sil further ridiculing his kitchen accessories when a knock sounds from his front door.  He looks up and smiles.  “They’re here.  Get the door?  I’ll be there in a second.”

Sil pauses momentarily before sending Finnick a hasty smile and darting away.  Finnick watches as she leaves.  She’s not _nervous_ , is she?  She’d almost looked mildly horrified that he’d asked her to open the door.  But there’s nothing to worry about.  It’s only Mags and Annie – hardly a dinner party, really.  Just a gathering with some old friends, plus one.

Sil opens the door with a well rehearsed smile and steps aside to let the two other Victors in.  She doesn’t have a good reputation with the other Victors.  Truthfully, she’s been absolutely dreading this dinner party that Finnick has been planning.  Anything that puts her in the same room with the other Victors makes her a little nervous.  So, expecting the worst, Sil just smiles and says, “Hello there.  Finnick is in the kitchen finishing up.  I’m sure you already know, but I’m Silver.  It’s lovely to meet you both.  Come inside, it’s cold out there – “ 

She rambles on for at least another minute before the older woman, Mags, laughs silently and pats her arm.  The other woman just looks at Sil in a dreamy sort of way and smiles softly.  It’s such an innocent expression that Sil forgets what she’s about to say and just falls into silence.

“I – um,” Sil breaks out into nervous laughter and gestures into the house, “I’m sure Finnick would like to see you both.”  She can’t get into the kitchen fast enough.  For some reason, the thought of being near Finnick puts her immediately at ease.

“Mags!” he exclaims when he sees the old woman, and swiftly goes to hug her.  When he does the same with Annie, Sil shuffles a little and glances away.  There had been rumors several years ago that Finnick and Annie had something going on, but she hadn’t really thought about it until now.  A strange blunt feeling overcomes her at the thought.  She’s not jealous.  Being jealous would mean that she wants Finnick to herself.  She doesn’t – she’s just uncomfortable with all the affection between these Victors who know each other so well.  That’s all.  She doesn’t have this sort of relationship with the other District 1 Victors.  Gloss and Cashmere are more interested in spurning her for the sake of it.

“You’ve met Sil,” Finnick is saying, and she breaks out of her short reverie to smile blandly.  If Finnick notices, he doesn’t comment, and neither do the others.  He goes on to talk about what he’s made for dinner and how Sil set the table.  He actually compliments her on the transformation of his dining room table later on, when they go to sit down at it.

“Very nice,” he tells her softly, leaning in just a little with a suave smile, close enough where she can smell the musky sea scent on him.  She beams at him.

They serve the fish and Finnick starts telling the others how he took Sil to the little shack up the coast the other day.  Annie smiles at the topic and looks at Sil.  For a brief moment, Sil is convinced that Annie’s about to say something terrible to her.  She grips her fork hard and stiffens, but all Annie says is a calm, “It’s lovely out there, isn’t it?  It must be strange for you, seeing so much of the sea at once.”  Sil relaxes minutely.

This time, Finnick glances at her.  She’s definitely acting strange.  Sil is usually extremely talkative.  He can barely get her to shut up most of the time.  But tonight she speaks only occasionally, and when Mags starts gesturing or Annie starts talking, her entire body turns tense as if she’s expecting the worst.  It makes him wonder just how many insulting dinner parties Sil has sat through.

She clears her throat and smiles back.  “Yes, it’s odd.  But – beautiful.” 

The corner of Finnick’s mouth edges up and he feels a strange sort of pride well up inside him.  She likes District 4.  She likes his home.  Then he shakes the thought away because obviously she does – anyone who visits District 4 likes the sight of the ocean, especially if it is something they don’t often see.  A short but vivid memory overcomes him then, of the way Sil had pressed her nose to the glass of the train when it had pulled into the station almost a week before.  The sea had enamored her then, enchanted her in a way that he’d found almost addicting.

Annie smiles too.  “You’ll have to come swimming with us sometime.  If only the weather was a little warmer…” she sighs wistfully and takes a sip of her water.

Finnick laughs loudly and Sil cringes, knowing what he’s going to say before he even says it.  She’s not disappointed. 

He grins and says, “I don’t know, Annie.  Sil’s afraid of the sea monsters.”  He chuckles harder at the glower she sends him.

Mags starts gesturing wildly, her fingers moving in a strangely beautiful, lithe fashion that only Annie and Finnick can decipher.  But Mag’s eyes are trained on Sil, and she gets the feeling that the woman is talking to her, in her own way.  When she’s done, Finnick translates, “She says you’ll have to come back in the warmer months.  She says we can have another party, but on the beach instead.”

For some inexplicable reason, Sil feels her eyes filling with tears.  Mags is looking at her with a soft, motherly smile.  Her and Annie has been nothing but kind to her all evening.  In their places, Sil is sure she would have been rude and judgmental toward the strange Victor who was being forced to ‘date’ her friend.  But the familial atmosphere that surrounds the table seems to extend to her as well, not only including her but dragging her into the depths of it.  She’s honestly not sure what to say.  No one’s ever wanted to hang out with her enough to make future plans.  It’s…baffling.

Her silence makes Finnick lean forward in concern.  “…Silver?  You okay?” 

But Sil just smiles and laughs away her shock, “Yes, of course.  I would like that very much, Mags.  Thank you.”  Mags grins and starts ‘talking’ to Annie.  By the younger Victor’s responses, it sounds like they’re planning out the beach party.  Sil watches curiously, then jumps in surprise when Finnick’s hand suddenly reaches down to squeeze hers in her lap.

She looks at him and he gives her a little wink and a small smile.  The comfort it brings is as confusing as it is lovely, and Sil smiles back.  He squeezes her once more before retreating and jumping into the conversation.

Sil is actually having a good time by the end of dinner.  She jumps up to help Finnick clear away the dishes.  Annie rises too, and soon they’re all bringing the dishes back to the kitchen.  The atmosphere is completely different than the slightly awkward greetings that had been exchanged an hour or so previously.  Sil even laughs aloud when Mags digs around in the bag she’d brought with her and pulls out a bottle of what looks like hard liquor.  The old woman hands the bottle to Sil, who grins mischievously at the wink the woman sends her.  Finnick sighs dramatically at the sight.

“You shouldn’t be drinking,” he tells Mags, but she only brushes him away with a dismissive wave and makes a signal to Annie.  The woman roots around in Finnick’s cabinets for a moment before triumphantly pulling out four tumblers.  Finnick sighs again.

“Oh hush, darling,” Sil tells him with a laugh.  Mags hooks her arm around Sil’s and pulls her into the living room.  “What is this, anyway?  It’s not labeled.”

Finnick groans, throwing himself onto the couch.  “That’s because it’s brewed inside the District.”  The brief description leads Sil to understand that it’s something similar to the ‘Sailor’s Swill’ that he’d told her about before at the diner.  She uncaps it and takes a whiff – then recoils slightly because it’s extremely strong.  If it smells this alcoholic, she can only imagine how it _tastes_.

Annie reappears with the tumblers and a plate of what looks like tiny chocolate cakes.  They’re small cupcake looking things, with frosting down the sides and decorated with white crosses on the tops.  She smiles warmly and lowers the tray in front of Sil, “Would you like to try?  They go very good with the rum.”

Two thoughts cross Sil’s mind then: that if the liquor is rum, it doesn’t look like any rum _she’s_ ever had; and that the tiny cakes look almost exactly like the ones she used to have as a child, when her mother was still with her.  The memory hits her with a sudden clarity.  Rainy days, her mother dancing around with her on the tiled floors, waving the cook away from the kitchen and plopping her onto the counter.  She’d hum a folksong from District 1 and the little Sil would join in with ungainly enthusiasm.  Their voices would fill the kitchen like a loud prayer, one in perfect tune and the other wobbly with youth.  They’d sing until the cakes were done, and then they’d go visit Sil’s father down in his workshop and have him sample the finished desserts – and sometimes he’d tell them how he could hear them singing all the way down in his tucked away corner…

“Ah – yes, thank you darling,” Sil says, clearing her throat.  Annie is staring at her in slight confusion, and Finnick peers at her from his place on the opposite couch.  Mags, the wonderful woman that she is, just happily sighs and reaches for her own cake.  Then she gestures at Sil wordlessly.  Annie jumps in to translate, “She wants to know what you were just thinking about.”

Sil shrugs and leans back.  “Oh nothing.  Just a memory.  It’s silly.”  She waves away the thought as Mags leans in and pours her a hefty helping of rum.  The old woman raises an eyebrow at her as she passes it over, and Sil sighs.  “The cakes – they reminded me of my mother.  We would sing together whenever we baked.”  The admission causes something of a stir, which naturally confuses Sil until Finnick clarifies.

“They want you to sing,” he tells her, sitting up and reaching for his own glass.  As he takes a sip, he peers at her over the rim and raises an eyebrow.  If he’s surprised at her mention of her mother, he doesn’t show it.

Sil’s first reaction is to adamantly refuse.  But Annie hurries to propose, “If you sing something from your District, we’ll sing you the most inappropriate sea jaunty we know.”  Finnick chuckles at the offer.

“I don’t – “ she starts, but Mags shuffles forward and gestures for her to hurry up.  Sil pouts a little because this dinner party really isn’t anything like what she’d expected and she’s completely out of her comfort zone here.  Forced smiles and boring small talk she can do – making up gossip and spreading it around to eager Capitolites is simple – but this is something entirely different.  She’s actually enjoying herself.  It’s strange.  But still, because Mags wants her to, she gives in and mutters, “Fine.  It’s a folksong from District 1.” 

Everyone quiets down, and Sil takes a breath before sitting up straight.  She begins softly, her voice light and airy and very delicate.  It reminds Finnick of gossamer threads or the shimmering way seaweed moves when the sun’s light reaches the seabed. 

" _My necklace is made of a deep emerald green_

_For that is the color of peaceful reprieve_

_And in the midsummers when men come to me,_

_I’ll always remember you._

 

_My father he told me our love could not be_

_For the emerald you gave me was not meant for me_

_And I cried in despair and I wept in my grief,_

_And I settled for sapphire blue._

 

_But the man who did give me that sapphire stone_

_Was as cold as the rock that it was quarried from_

_And I ran from his grasp and was swept from his hold,_

_Where you waited for me to come through._

 

_You gave me this ring when the sun faded red_

_And in it you carved our initials and said_

_“I’ll give you this diamond and love you instead”_

_And come Sunday morning t’was true._

 

_Now emeralds and diamonds are all well and good_

_But the truth of the matter should be understood_

_Our hearts are our rulers as they really should,_

_For mine lead me straight into you.”_

 

Finnick stares.  The room fades to soft silence and yet Sil still seems to be captured somehow in the lilting tune of her song.  Finnick feels captured, too, pulled beneath the gentle tone of her voice and caught between each word.  It is a very…District 1 sort of song.  Luxurious things like emeralds and sapphires are just a part of life there.  But he hadn’t really expected it to be so romantic in nature, and he hadn’t expected to imagine Sil as the main character in that song – running from other men and throwing herself into his own arms instead.  The thought is unnerving and he looks away, though not soon enough.  Mags notices, and grins to herself.

“That was a pretty song,” Annie says dreamily, “Do lovers often exchange emeralds and sapphires in District 1?” 

For some reason, the question makes Sil’s face feel a little hot.  She laughs.  “Goodness, no.  Those kinds of gifts are only exchanged as betrothal or wedding presents.  They’re very expensive.” 

Mags pats her shoulder in thanks and then nudges Annie.  Sil catches on quickly – she’s obviously prompting the younger woman to fulfill her promise.  Annie laughs and stands up, looking excited.  Then, in a split second decision, Annie goes over to Finnick and pulls him up to join her.

“Oh really?  You’re making me sing too?” he asks with a tired sigh, but doesn’t complain.  He’s very good natured around his fellow District 4 Victors, Sil notices.  She watches in fascination as the duo suggests different songs.  They finally decide on a particularly foul one, and Sil bursts into laughter when their voices spout all manners of curses and insults.  Mags claps her hands together.  It’s so much fun that Sil even accepts another glass of the spicy rum liquor from Mags.

It doesn’t surprise Sil that Finnick has a charming voice.  He’s charming everywhere else, so of course his singing voice would be equally as lovely.  She leans back and listens to the low lilt of it, laughing all over again when Mags jumps up and starts dancing with him.  He takes a turn with Annie too, and then stops in front of Sil with a mischievous glint in his eye.  When he holds out his hand, Sil freezes.

“What are you doing?” she asks suspiciously.

He laughs.  “Asking you to dance.” 

Before she can even think about refusing him, Finnick is pulling her up and then into his arms, and Annie’s starting up another tune and clapping as she watches the pair fly around the room.  It’s terrifying and amazing, and Sil isn’t sure if she wants to laugh or shout at him.

“Hold onto me!” he says into her ear.  His hands are warm around her waist, and he pulls her in tightly.  She barely has a chance to ask why she would do anything of the sort (as if!) when Finnick is suddenly lifting her up off the ground and spinning her around – her skirts flying, his hair mussed – and Sil decides rather belatedly that she’d rather laugh.  So she does.

“Finnick, put me down!” she cries with a grin, but doesn’t mean it.  She suddenly wants him to hold her like this forever, wants the world to keep spinning out of control, the colors to keep blurring together until all she can see is his face and his lovely sparkling eyes and his grin.  He laughs and the world starts to slow back down.  When her feet touch the ground again, they’re both breathing a little harder and Annie has stopped singing.  Mags and her are just grinning at each other instead.

“Look how late it is!” Annie exclaims with a laugh.  Mags makes a show of looking tired (she doesn’t succeed) and presses the bottle of liquor into Sil’s hands as a parting gift.  She’s still standing in the circle of Finnick’s arms, and the suddenness of this departure confuses her.

“What – are you leaving already?” she wonders in surprise. 

Annie chuckles.  “It’s almost nine o’clock.  We’ve stayed later than we meant to.  You’re leaving tomorrow, aren’t you?  We’ll come see you off at the station!”  She gives Sil a brief hug and Mags says her goodbyes.  It takes them almost ten minutes to actually leave, but Sil is still reeling (from the dance and their absence) by the time the front door closes and Finnick returns to the living room.

“Well,” he says with a smile, and looks at her.

She tilts her head and grins in agreement, “Well.” 

They’re both silent for a moment.  Then Finnick clears his throat and asks, “Want another drink?  It’d be a shame to leave so much of this left.”  He sits down on the couch and refills his tumbler.  She takes the seat next to him, and for some reason all she can think about is the feeling of his warm hands on her waist and the fact that his eyes have hazel flecks in them when you get close enough to notice.

The thoughts stay with her for hours afterward.  Even when this day bleeds into the next and they’re leaving District 4 for District 1.  And before Sil boards the train, Mags approaches her with a gentle, motherly smile and shoots a lingering look at Finnick, who is saying his goodbyes to Annie with a charming smile.  Sil follows her line of sight, then looks back at Mags when the old woman traces the shape of a heart against her chest. 

It is…a frightening gesture, or at least it should be.  But for reasons Sil cannot explain, she smiles warmly at the silent message and follows Finnick onto the train.  She’s not entirely sure what Mags had meant by that, but it makes her feel strangely happy nonetheless. 

They wave to Annie and Mags as the train pulls out of the station, heading off to District 1 for one more week of their impromptu vacation.

 


	11. A purgatory of flushed sound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Finnick gets a taste of District 1, Sil's father is nothing like he imagines him to be, and the wealth and glamour of the Cornelius Estate makes him distinctly uncomfortable.
> 
> I will be going away for a few days next week, so I'll be updating twice at the beginning of the week instead of just once to make up for it!

 

**Chapter Eleven | A purgatory of flushed sound**

" _Sir Percy Blakeney's house on the river has become a historic one: palatial in its dimensions, it stands in the midst of exquisitely laid-out gardens with a picturesque terrace and frontage to the river. Built in Tudor days, the old red bricks of the walls look eminently picturesque in the midst of a bower of green, the beautiful lawn, with its old sun-dial, adding the true note of harmony to its foregrounds, and now, on this warm and early autumn night, the leaves slightly turned to russets and gold, and old garden looked singularly poetic and peaceful in the moonlight." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

District 1 is really nothing like District 4. Finnick had only been there once or twice after his Victory Tour, but he'd forgotten about how much he hated it here. When they aren't walking through the industrious fumes of factories, they're ducking through ridiculously priced high-end stores that sell anything from silk sheets to gem encrusted jewelry. Five minutes off the train, and Finnick already dreads having to spend a whole week in this peculiar hell. At least they're able to take a car from the station to Sil's mansion, which is all the way on the opposite side of town – and the Victor's Village.

"I thought all Victors lived in their district Villages," Finnick comments as he glances out the window. The two of them are sitting in a very comfortable, very sleek black car. There had been a driver waiting for them when they'd arrived, but Sil had kicked him out with a wave of her hand and assumed the driver's seat herself. It had been surprising, to say the least. Finnick hadn't known she could drive. He'd never had the chance to learn himself. But in District 1, the levels of wealth are clearly much different. All the rich families have the very best. It's almost an extension of the Capitol in many ways, which makes Finnick wrinkle his nose. Still…there's something strangely sexy about Sil knowing how to drive. In a purely objective manner, of course.

Sil hums and says, "Nonsense. Why ever would I live in a place like that when I have my own mansion? Besides, my father would never want to move." She turns left onto a less populated side street, looking very chic in her oversized sunglasses and white scarf. Finnick has a nagging suspicion that she only wears said scarf  _while_  driving, because he's never seen it before.

He raises an eyebrow and glances at her. "What do you use the other house for? Romantic trysts with your fake boyfriends?" He smirks.

One dry scoff later, and Sil airily tells him, "Hardly. I store things there. My closet at the mansion is large, but it only fits so much you know."

The response placates him, though Finnick obviously judges it with a certain harshness. She won't tell him what she  _actually_  keeps in her house – extra clothes are really the last thing she bothers with. Once again the wall of silence between them settles and begins to grow, fluctuating outward and surrounding them. Ever since they'd taken their leave of District 4, the magical romance between them has dropped away.

The train ride had been boring at best, disconcerting at worst, because Sil had been too busy thinking about the night before and how much fun she'd had at Finnick's little dinner party. She tends to over think things, and she's been wondering if perhaps she has over thought the light in Finnick's eyes when he'd asked her to dance, when he'd spun her around, when he drank the rest of the liquor with her after Mags and Annie left. Perhaps she had just been making it all up in her head. It's probably just as well, or so she's been telling herself for hours now, to no avail. She has a job to do, a deadline to meet, so many things to get underway before the Quarter Quell is announced. And yet…

Yet for some baffling, entirely ridiculous reason, she wants to be more than just some stupid, bumbling fool to Finnick Odair. She wants him to know her. She wants him to want more of her. With a frown, Sil accelerates the car, trying to leave those silly thoughts far behind.

It's easier said than done.

Ten minutes later, they're pulling into the long driveway of Sil's mansion. The large estate sprawls before them, hidden only by a sprinkle of trees. District 1 resides on the edge of the desert, and decorative palm trees loom in perfect unison down the edges of the driveway. There's some grass, but not much of it, and no water at all. At once, Finnick feels entirely out of his comfort zone. At least in the city, there were too many buildings to notice the expanse of the desert sand. But here the effect is much more potent.

"Here we are," Sil informs him idly, just to break the silence. She pulls the car up to the front doors – large, beautifully crafted carved pieces with lovely stained glass windows in the center. When they step outside, the beat of the sun makes Finnick feel dry, like a fish out of water. Thankfully, it's much cooler inside. And much more glamorous.

The foyer is large. Pillars of mahogany spiral to the ceiling, which is tiled.  _Tiled_. Finnick stares up at it in wonder, noting that most of the tiles actually form a sort of swirling pattern that is entirely made up of painted glass. The afternoon light hits it just right, illuminating the room with sparkling clouds from above. It's amazing and disgusting, and the endless display of grandeur doesn't stop there.

A huge staircase is located just opposite them, the marbled steps hurtling over each other as they drift upwards. The railing is wrought iron and bent in artful symmetry, and the wall behind it showcases portraits of men and women that peer down at him with disdain, as if silently wondering what an outsider is doing in their home. Above it all, hanging atop the line of portraits like a king standing over a sea of soldiers, is a wooden coat of arms that looks to be several feet wide. It's a massive piece that commands attention, carved with a huge black bird with gem encrusted eyes and outstretched wings that glimmer with more painted glass. What appears to be three snakes wrap around the bird, as if halting it from taking flight. There's no doubt that this is the Cornelius family crest, especially when Finnick eyes the painted gold letters that curl beneath it.

" _Verum inter mendacium,"_  Sil's voice suddenly sounds. Finnick turns to her, curious at the ease in which she speaks the foreign words. She gives him a light smile and shrugs, "Truth is found between lies. It is the Lamprey motto."

He raises an eyebrow. "Not Cornelius?"

Sil merely laughs, simpering to herself for a moment before telling him, "Gracious, no! The Lamprey and the Cornelius families intermarried  _centuries_  ago. Every descendant keeps both names of course. You only know the half of it – I still haven't told you my middle name yet."

Finnick is baffled. She has two surnames? Why? He scrunches his nose at her and says, "Now  _this_  I've got to hear."

But Sil merely snickers and breezily tells him, "I only tell lovers my middle name, Finnick darling." She pauses, waiting for him to jump in and say –

"Well, that is a problem that can easily be rectified." He winks and she rolls her eyes with an amused smirk.

"What's this?" a loud voice questions from above them. "Is that my daughter? Come to find out if your old man's kicked the bucket?"

Sil immediately gasps and exclaims, "Father!" She tosses her shoes off and dashes up the stairs, feet skidding on the marble floor. When she throws herself into the arms of an older man who looks like he's seen better days, Finnick watches. He stares even harder when Sil begins to pepper her father's face with kisses. It's odd seeing her so genuinely affectionate. He's so used to the airs she puts on in the Capitol that it rather takes him off guard.

"Now what's this about lovers?" her father asks, peering down at Finnick with all the roused suspicion of a pitbull. To Finnick's abject horror, he actually feels himself shuffle a bit beneath the scrutiny. Sil looks equally as horrified.

"Father!" she hisses, wrapping an arm around his back and walking with him down the stairs. "I told you about Finnick before – don't be cruel." Her father obviously knows to take her words lightly, because he chuckles and kisses her hair dotingly.

"Yes, yes, of course you did. It's sometimes hard to keep up with you these days, Silver," he says with a sigh. "You're so busy talking about all that dreadful gossip that I can never get a word in edgewise."

For her part, Sil looks a little chagrined at the gentle scolding. Finnick watches the exchange with vague interest – he's never seen her take someone's words to heart before. Then again, fathers and daughters often have that special relationship that speaks beyond words.

"Finnick Odair, I presume," her father greets in a more official tone, and holds out his hand. Finnick pauses only a heartbeat before offering his own in exchange. The handshake is firm and just a tiny bit threatening. Sil's father is definitely not what he'd expected. A more feeble, weak-minded character would have better fit the mental image Finnick had formed.

"You can call me Gemma," he informs Finnick with a short nod. "Mr. Cornelius is reserved for my clients, few as they are these days, and any potential future sons should at least get used to my name."

There is a beat of silence in which Sil stares at her father with alarmed panic and Finnick purses his lips to stop grinning. Gemma just looks pleased with himself…until Sil starts slapping his shoulder and muttering, "Father, you can't  _say_  that – "

"I'll take care of your daughter to the best of my abilities, sir," Finnick cuts in, smiling a suave smile that threatens to break his face in half. He obviously failed at hiding his grin. He also fails at battling it down when Sil turns her wide eyes to him and sends him a snarling look over her father's shoulder.

Gemma chuckles. "It seems I've embarrassed my daughter yet again, but can you blame me? With all the men chasing after Silver these days…" he  _tsks_  and says, "Well. I have to make sure they're worthy of dating my beautiful, intelligent girl."

Finnick's mouth twitches. Intelligent? Beautiful, yes, perhaps, but intelligent? He nearly laughs aloud at the thought. Somehow he manages to keep silent (at great personal cost) and merely coughs into his hand. Sil pretends not to notice his amusement, though anyone could see the bright twinkle of it in his eyes. It would be hard  _not_  to notice, to be honest. Finnick's eyes are lovely.

She purses her lips and mumbles,  _"Father."_  But, as Finnick is beginning to realize, Gemma has a mind of his own. He merely waves Sil away and glances over at the butler who is now lugging suitcases through the massive front doors.

"We've set up a room for you on the east end of the mansion. And before you get any ideas, Silver's room is absolutely off limits. There'll be no canoodling under my roof." Gemma glances at Sil's pained expression and laughs loudly. "What did you expect, dove? Did you really think I'd forget about all those  _incidents_  you used to get into? I'm getting older, but I haven't lost my memory yet."

Sil looks absolutely mortified, which naturally makes Finnick more than a little curious. Incidents in her youth? Now that is a secret he has to hear. His mind flashes back to that one night at that glamorous Capitol party weeks before, when Gloss had mentioned something about Sil going to parties before her Games. He wonders if that's all there is to it. Surely not.

Before he can subtly question Gemma on the topic, Sil lurches forward and grabs his wrist, tugging him away from the marbled foyer. "I'll show you to your room," she says hastily. Gemma smiles in amusement and gives Finnick a polite nod as they leave him behind.

It takes a moment for Finnick to adjust to the change of rooms. Really, the mansion is a world on its own. The marble floors of the foyer turn to gleaming cherry colored wood as they enter a hallway. Instead of the looming, dreadful feeling of those many portraits staring him down, he is filled with a much lighter sense of ease. The décor matches, transforming from gloomy and sullen to bright airy greens and blues and yellows. There are even flowers painted on the walls, sprouting from the floor and creeping up the mint green wall paper in life sized splendor. Even Finnick has to admit that it's a sight to behold.

The mansion isn't quite as ominous or large as it had seemed upon stepping into it. It only takes a few minutes to walk from one side to the other. It's not even as big as President Snow's estate in the Capitol, to be honest. But it's glamorous in a way Snow's estate could never be, and when they arrive in Finnick room he's once again swept off guard, like a wave blocked by a jutting pier.

"…Wow," he mumbles, feeling strangely inadequate in the face of all this glamour. He shouldn't be. The Capitol is glamorous too, but this is something else entirely. Where the Capitol is almost industrious in its views of comfort, Sil's estate is practically a fantastical dream. He takes one look at the circular bed strewn with bright pillows with a mesh drape overhanging the piece and smirks.

"You don't spare expenses," he says with a raised eyebrow, noting the gossamer white curtains and the floor length windows overlooking perhaps the only greenery on the entire grounds. There's a swimming pool just outside his room. A pair of French doors open up onto a patio where there are comfortable looking woven chairs and even a hammock hanging from between two towering palm trees. He barely manages to drag his eyes away from the view of the water that he honestly can't wait to jump into. He's glad he does though, because Sil is making something of a show as she zips around the room and tidies nonexistent messes.

She gives a trilling laugh. "Yes. I thought you'd like this room. I hope you'll enjoy the pool. You can use it whenever you'd like."

The hesitant smile she sends him falls away when he points out, "I didn't bring swim clothes, you know." She looks chagrined, probably because she'd forgotten to mention it before they'd left District 4.

For some reason he feels the need to clear away that hesitance still lingering on her face, so Finnick winks and drawls, "I guess we could always go skinny dipping instead." He can't possibly fight away the grin that presses itself to his mouth when she immediately turns red.

"Finnick!" she says, horrified at the thought.

He laughs and steps closer. "Do you think there are any cameramen around to take pictures of my moonlit nudity? What a scandalous article that would be!  _Silver Cornelius lures poor Finnick Odair into the pool for her own amusement – his trousers disappear with the rest of his dignity._  Sounds good, right?"

She sniffs, turns her nose up, and tells him, "As if I would stoop that low. Or try to get you naked. Besides, what makes you think I'm going swimming with you at night?" She puts more distance between them as she goes to collect his suitcase, which is waiting over by the door, placed there by the butler before they'd arrived.

Finnick watches as she drags it across the floor. "Swimming at night is fun. Where's your sense of adventure?" he snarks, then takes pity on her and helps her with the heavy suitcase. He lifts it into his arms and for a moment, Sil stares at the roiling muscles on display. Luckily she snaps out of it before he notices.

She scoffs. "Anyway. There'll be no cameramen here unless they find some way to sneak in. My father would never allow them entrance."

He gives her a sideways glance and hesitantly asks, "…Does that mean we don't have to pretend we're dating?" She hesitates too, unsure about the answer, as well as uncertain as to why she feels subtly slighted at the question. Of course Finnick Odair wouldn't actually  _want_  to date her. Their whole relationship is a scam. If he had a choice, he'd probably be as far away from her as possible.

"We'll take it slow," he tells her when she doesn't respond. "No point getting rusty and slipping in the act, right?"

She somehow manages to smile and nod, trying to look like she's in total agreement. But what she's really struggling with is trying to prove to  _herself_  that she's in agreement. That she's just fooling herself. That there is absolutely no reason at all to want Finnick Odair, or to ever think that he could want her. Finnick likes intelligent women, and Silver Lamprey Cornelius is just a dithering fool.

"I'll leave you to it, my love. Perhaps later I'll give you a tour of the mansion," she suggests, stepping toward the door with a shallow smile. Finnick just sends her a bland smile and watches her leave, skirts flying around her legs as she hurries away from him.

Dinner is at seven. Finnick changes before then, slipping on a new shirt that doesn't have the stale scent of the train permeating the fabric. He learns fairly quickly that the desert is utterly gorgeous in the evening. A myriad of colors dance through the sky like the painted glass tiles that cover the ceiling of the estate's foyer. He ends up watching it for a while, standing in front of the windows that overlook the grounds. It's like staring into a kaleidoscope full of oranges and blues and pinks.

The butler comes to collect him soon after, and together they walk silently through the intricate hallways that burst brightly with painted flowers. Apparently, they are dining outside tonight, because he is led to a large pillared veranda that's probably at least twice as large as his own room and full of equally luxurious accommodations. Sil and Gemma are already there, dressed to the nines, as if attending dinner is apparently some kind of ceremony that shouldn't ever be downplayed. The dining table is laid out with all sorts of beautiful dishes that look more like art than food. For a moment, he fumbles at the sight of all this grand extravagance.

"Finnick!" Gemma exclaims, standing up to greet him. "Sit down," he invites warmly, and Finnick takes a seat across from Sil, who clears her throat and nods at him. He nods back, still reeling with discomfort. There's no seafood in sight. He can't identify anything on the table, actually, except a plate of asparagus sitting in mock simplicity to his left. It's sprinkled in what look like nuts and surrounded by orange fruit. And – the napkins are embroidered, unwrinkled, not faded, and pristine in every way. Now he knows why Silver had been so picky about his napkins back in District 4.

"Did you rest up?" Gemma inquires, passing him a plate of what appears to be chicken (though upon tasting it minutes later, he decides it must be some other kind of poultry). Gemma sends Sil a look and she immediately stands, trudging around the table to pour Finnick a glass of wine. The action confuses Finnick – he can pour his own wine, thank you – until Gemma clarifies, "Ah. A family tradition. The wife pours the wine during the first dinner."

Sil blanches and turns to Finnick with an insisting, "He means that the  _daughter_  serves the  _guest_  – really father, why must you say things like that?" She  _tsks_  and steps back to her seat while Finnick smirks. He raises the wine glass and nearly chokes on the very sweet fragrance of it.

"You must forgive me," Gemma chuckles, turning to Finnick with a mischievous gleam in his eye. "Ever since Sil decided to forgo her formal education in favor of gossip and parties, I've enjoyed teasing her." Sil very nearly groans out loud.

Her father will be the death of her. The more unknowing hints Gemma makes, the more her cover shifts away from her like so much sand in a sandstorm. Her father is not aware of what she does in the Capitol or why she acts the way she does now. He only knows that since winning her Games, she's turned into the most frivolous creature on the face of the earth.

Yes, she used to go to parties in her youth and get into all sorts of trouble, but outside of those nights she would throw herself into her studies with a hunger she couldn't dampen. Her father had been very proud of her back then. He would often find ways to quiz her on her studies, and would delight when she could name all the ancient cities and countries that she could think of.

"Oh?" Finnick asks, eyebrows raised, "Formal education?" Sil puffs out her cheeks.

If Gemma makes any more of these comments, Finnick is going to realize that she isn't as stupid as she tries to appear. But then –

"I can't ever imagine Sil being interested in studying," Finnick says, glancing at her and clearly only seeing the surface, the shallow insipid parts of her on full display. She's not sure if she wants to wilt or grin at the fact that he's apparently easier to fool than she'd thought, even when her father is dropping hints like breadcrumbs.

He chuckles, "What kind of education did you have, Silver? Arts and crafts?" The joke makes Sil laugh, a trilling noise that she hopes sounds real, though inside she deflates.

Gemma frowns. "Silver is fluent in two Old Languages and has been the sole proprietor of the estate for several years now. Though she's also very good at her art. She always finds some new wall to paint whenever she comes home."

He smiles at his daughter, who quickly rushes to add, "Oh, yes, well I wouldn't say I'm fluent, father, and of course I'm far too busy in the Capitol to manage the accounts. I've hired help." She smiles at Finnick blandly, and he smiles back just as blandly.

Gemma looks surprised. "You have? When?"

"Oh a year or so ago," she waves her hand and reaches for a plate of fruit. "Have some mango slices father, they're good for your heart." Gemma sighs but acquiesces.

Finnick tilts his head to the side, trying to imagine Sil pouring over financial accounts. He can't. She'd just as soon toss them into the fire than actually succumb to doing math. It would make sense that she'd hire an accountant to take care of all that stuff so that she can go party in the Capitol and have a grand old time. As for being fluent in the Old Languages, Finnick does seem to recall her speaking one of them at the opera, but it had only been one sentence and she could have easily memorized it to impress her date. There's no way she's fluent in two of the Old Languages. Gemma is merely enhancing her good qualities because he's her father and that's what fathers do. He probably doesn't even realize how silly his daughter actually is.

He takes another bite of his non-chicken and tunes back into the conversation. Sil is chattering on about some sort of new gown she's having commissioned in the Capitol by some woman named Tigress. Gemma is nibbling on his mango slices and idly twirling his stemmed wine glass around his fingers.

"…Oh and you wouldn't believe the fabrics she has," she gushes, "there's this  _divine_  silver silk that would look just amazing on me. I'm going to have it commissioned for my birthday." Gemma hums lazily here and there, and Finnick wonders how much he's actually listening to his daughter's chatter. Not that he really blames him. Sil can really talk when she wants to.

"And Finnick darling, I was thinking you'd look  _magnificent_  in one of Tigress's tailored suits. Since we're dating now, I'm sure people expect you to wear all the best fabrics. I think a nice steel blue color would look spectacular with your complexion. Don't you agree father?" She delves off into different subjects before anyone can respond, as if she's trying to steer the conversation firmly in her own direction. That is, in fact, her plan.

If she can bore them both to tears with her ridiculous topics, then her father won't have any further opportunities to leave more breadcrumbs for Finnick to eat up. Not that Gemma is even aware that he's doing it, but the more he talks about Sil's past, the more interested Finnick appears. The District 4 Victor is notorious for picking up on secrets of any kind. Usually he does so between the sheets of course, so Sil is hoping he won't even notice that she's hiding something from him in plain sight. Still, it's always better to be safe than sorry.

When it starts to get dark, dozens of tiny lights spring to life all over the veranda. They creep up the pillars and crisscross the ceiling. The butler (who Finnick has learned is simply called Hale) approaches the table with a little metal cart and starts collecting the plates and dishes with a maid. Sil chatters on as if she doesn't even notice, stopping only when Hale brings out slices of chocolate cake and dainty little glasses of milk.

The decadence is overwhelming. He even feels a little guilty about eating something so delicious. It reminds him of the Capitol, and he wonders how much of this estate is geared toward accepting the role of the perfect Capitolite servant. He eats it anyway, sends Sil a bland smile, and doesn't touch the milk. It's a rare commodity in District 4, and he's never grown used to the taste.

"How will you be entertaining our guest tomorrow, Silver?" Gemma inquires after a shift of (non-chatty, glorious) silence. Apparently Sil forgets to keep talking when faced with chocolate cake. He'll have to remember that.

"I thought perhaps Finnick would enjoy seeing the city," she suggests, glancing over at him to see if he looks interested or not. It's hard to tell. The barriers are back up between them. He's clearly uncomfortable in her extravagant home. She's observant enough to realize that. Which is why he'd probably enjoy getting out of it for an afternoon.

"Ah, make sure you take him to see the Factory," Gemma tells her as he leans back in his chair with a tired yawn. Sil immediately notices.

"You should go to bed, father," she says. Gemma apparently agrees, because after a moment he gets up and leans down to press a kiss to his daughter's cheek.

"Goodnight, dove," he tells her with a fond smile. When he turns to Finnick, he claps him on the shoulder and says, "Goodnight. Don't keep her up too late." His eyes sparkle with mischief and Sil sighs dramatically.

Finnick offers his goodnight and Gemma takes his leave. The two of them are left alone on the starry veranda. Silence overcomes them.

"Dare I ask what you think of my humble home?" Sil eventually wonders, breaking the soft silence between them. She's reclining in her seat, eyes drawn to the open sky past the veranda's rooftop, where stars swallow the desert sky. There's so many of them, all twinkling brightly from above as if caught up in their own separate secrets.

Finnick chuckles. It's easy for him to slip into his Capitol persona, the flirtatious demeanor that he saves for moments where he feels too uncomfortable to be himself. It's odd, really. He hadn't felt all that uncomfortable around this silly socialite for weeks now, and yet here in this grand estate, it feels safer and more natural to put on airs. Like it's natural to hide yourself away and be another person here. As easy as breathing.

"It's lovely," he hedges, unsure if he's lying or not. To be fair, it is an absolutely beautiful place, like an outlet of some heavenly space reserved for a select few. He'd never truly thought about how the other Victors live. Where they disappear to after their time in the Capitol expires. But he can imagine Sil escaping here – it's the perfect place to run away to, so luxurious and grand that it's only too easy to be swept up in it all.

She smiles at him, but her eyes are strangely blank, like those flickering lights above them, bright but silenced in some way Finnick cannot put a finger on. He watches her from across the table, wondering once again what secrets she holds. He's seen more sides of her than he realized existed. The excitement at seeing the ocean, the unbridled curiosity of knowing about everything in District 4, the strange but beautiful way she somehow manages to get under people's skins without even trying very hard. Surely the Silver he's known in the Capitol isn't the Sil he sees now, but he can't quite figure out the actual differences between the two. What is the common denominator between the girl he thought he knew, and the woman sitting before him now?

Instead of calling him out on his words, Sil just sighs. "If you'd rather not go into the city tomorrow, we don't have to," she says after another moment of silence. "I'm sure I can think of something else to do."

The offer is tempting. Finnick's never liked District 1. Both times he's been to the overly flashy district, he'd been filled with the sense of disgusting claustrophobia. The way these people live, like they're trying too hard to look and act like the Capitol, makes him sick. Nothing feels natural here, even this glamorous estate – especially the estate. But Sil had been willing to see the sights of his own district, and they'd be spending a whole week in hers. He might as well make at least a little bit of an effort.

"I'm sure Snow would expect us to go out in public," Finnick muses lightly. Sil hums in agreement. They fall silent again.

The desert is lovely at night, like another world. Like two sides of the same coin. He can't help but wonder what the two sides of Sil are. He's sure there's something there, and as the evening rolls out before them, the thought remains constant in his mind.

Silver Lamprey Cornelius is turning out to be quite the mystery.


	12. (Scraping the dogged end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Sil takes Finnick out into the heart of her district, he has some questions that she isn't prepared for, and some Nightingale business follows her to District 1. Finnick is getting a little too close for comfort, but unfortunately for Sil, that isn't about to change any time soon ;)
> 
> As promised, I am updating early this week because I'll be going away for a few days. I'll be posting another chapter tomorrow before I leave, and then we'll resume the normal posting schedule next Tuesday.

**Chapter Twelve | Scraping the dogged end**

_“The extravagantly short-waisted satin coat, wide-lapelled waistcoat, and tight-fitting striped breeches set off his massive figure to perfection, and in repose one might have admired so fine a specimen of English manhood, until the foppish ways, the affected movements, the perpetual inane laugh brought one’s admiration of Sir Percy Blakeney to an abrupt close.”  Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

 

The next morning, Sil wakes up with a sense of apprehension that dawns over her slowly.  It comes on at full force as she sits in front of her vanity and tucks up her hair.  She stares at herself in the mirror for a moment, studying the full lips and slightly ruddy complexion that pouts back at her.  A little bit of makeup makes quick work of hiding the natural blush of her cheeks, but it isn’t so easy to hide the quiet dread that suckers over her skin.

She’s taking Finnick into the heart of District 1 today.

He’s going to hate it, of course.  The concrete streets and industrial atmosphere of the city is just like the hard gray of the Capitol.  So is the overly bright, too-glamorous luxury quarter that they will be expected to visit.  It would be strange if they didn’t, what with reporters calculating their every move.

She sighs.  A few hours immersed in her ridiculous district isn’t going to kill her.  And at least they only have to make an appearance.  After that, they can just hang around the estate for the rest of the week and pretend to be distracted by their new relationship.  She sighs again.

It’s strange how only a few weeks can change a person so much.  When she’d first discovered that she was an unwilling participant to this fake relationship, Sil wanted Finnick to suffer along with her.  It had seemed only natural for them both to agonize over the peculiar setup.  But something has changed somewhere between the start and the present.  She no longer wants Finnick to have an involuntary slot in her life.  She is used to pretending, but this feels too much like an outright lie than any of her half-truths.

What would he say if he knew the truth about her?  What would he do if he found out that _she_ is the Sterling Nightingale?  That the silly Capitol-loving socialite he dislikes so much is actually the most well known spy and rebel ever to grace Panem?  The question has been tumbling around her head for days now, growing every hour with a ferocity that makes her wilt.  In a perfect world, he would say that he’d known it all along and tell her he doesn’t have a problem with the fact that she’s basically been lying to his face since they’d met.  But when has her world ever been perfect?

“Chin up, darling,” she tells her reflection, slipping into her posh accent with a simper.  There’s only one thing to do now, only one thing she _can_ do.  She’s been working for one specific goal for seven years of her life, and as much as she enjoys Finnick’s company despite all her previous misgivings, she cannot allow herself to just forget about her job. 

So she stands up and puts on the most decadent satin sundress she can find, slips on enough jewelry to fund District 13 for half a year, and teeters to her bedroom door in heels that are definitely not ideal for walking around all day.  Because – Silver Lamprey Cornelius would never concern herself with such a sensible thing as comfort.

* * *

 

Finnick decides he hates District 1.  It’s so different from District 4 in every single way.  The people they pass look at them like they’re either Gods or vermin.  There’s no comforting sound of the ocean and no briny salty air.  There’s only hard concrete and the fumes from all the factories.  It’s stifling.  Luckily the fumes aren’t nearly as bad in the luxury quarter.  Unluckily, everything else is.

“Oh, and there’s the shop my father used to own, when he was still making jewelry,” Sil points out as they meander down the crowded sidewalk.  “His hands are too shaky these days.  He still does it as a hobby though.  Anyway, now the shop is owned by some woman who sells…well,” Sil pauses, looking a little embarrassed.  It’s pretty clear what the woman sells, if the displays in the window are any indication.  Finnick takes one look at the shameless display of lingerie and the array of much darker objects and holds his breath.  Somehow he manages to slip on a flirty smile, but suddenly all he can think about are hotel rooms and the life waiting for him back in the Capitol.

Sil tightens her grasp around his upper arm and draws him quickly back to the present, as if she knows where his thoughts are and doesn’t want him to dwell on them.  He’s actually grateful when she changes the topic to something actually worthwhile (or at least has nothing to do with clothes shopping or finding the perfect pair of shoes). 

“The Factory is up ahead,” she tells him, quickening their pace and passing the questionable shop like it’s contaminated.  “It’s rather amazing.  The mechanics of it are – “ she pauses, halting her words before she can say any more about a subject that she shouldn’t care about.  Silver Lamprey Cornelius would never bother learning about something _mechanical_.  But for some reason, it’s so easy to talk to Finnick as her real self and not her alter ego.  He just brings it out of her.

He sends her a raised eyebrow and slowly drawls, “…The mechanics?  What would you know about that?  And what is the Factory, anyway?”  The doubt in his voice is tangible and Sil gives a trilling laugh that she hopes doesn’t sound as nervous as the rest of her feels.

“Ah…the Factory is the biggest structure in District 1, my love.  The things they create there are shipped off to the Capitol.  The Capitol sends orders every week, you see, and the workers set up the machinery based on what the Capitol wants.  Each machine can be used for different things – there’s even a diamond cutting machine that can also cut fabrics and paper and wood, if the settings are changed.  And – “ she trails off when she sees the surprised expression on Finnick’s face.   “Ah.  I won’t bore you,” she says with an embarrassed smile.

But Finnick just laughs and insists, “No!  I mean, please continue.  It’s odd hearing you talk about things like this.”  And strangely fascinating. 

Sil grins at him and, as she drags him down the sidewalk, regales him with how the Factory operates and what sort of things it produces.  She even makes mention of how much District 1 relies on it, and on the Capitol’s inflow of money.  “It’s very important,” she says, “without it, the district would be destitute.”

Finnick hums.  The Factory looms above them, spiraling high into the sky.  It is a sight to behold, and the thought of Sil actually being aware of how it works definitely gives him something to think about.  Gemma’s words from last night suddenly echo through his mind as they walk down the sunny street.

_“Silver is fluent in two Old Languages and has been the sole proprietor of the estate for several years now.”_

Huh.  Well, he still has his doubts about her being fluent in two Old languages and actually having mathematical talents, but perhaps she isn’t completely stupid.  Clearly she’s aware of how her district operates.  Then again, it’s probably something everyone learns in school here.  He had to take mandatory marine studies classes throughout his own education in District 4.  It would make sense for people here to learn about how their economy caters to the Capitol.  And as for the inner workings of the Factory, surely they’d gone over that in class too.  It’s such a huge source of income for District 1 after all.

“Are you hungry?” Sil wonders, pausing in front of a bakery.  She stares for a moment at a very chocolaty looking pastry and Finnick chuckles.

“I’m starting to think you’re obsessed with chocolate, sugar,” he jokes, “I guess my nickname fits you pretty well.”

She sends him a simpering smile that looks more like a mocking sneer and he raises an eyebrow, wondering what she’ll do next.  She’s always surprising him.  Whenever he thinks he’s got her pinned down, she does something to completely change the rules of their little game.  He doesn’t want to admit it, but it’s sort of addicting.

“That’s a ‘yes, you are hungry’, right?” she insists, then ducks into the bakery before he can respond.  His mouth quirks up and he follows after her, stepping into the café. 

His first thought is that it’s very different from the one he’d brought her to in District 4.  His next thought is apparently her next thought too, because as they wait in line, Sil quietly bemoans, “We don’t have that amazing hot chocolate here, I’m afraid.  You must tell me how to make it, darling.  Ever since I had it, I’ve been _absolutely craving_ more.” 

She idly, almost unthinkingly, hooks her arm around his as she teeters in her heels, peering up at the menu with a contemplative look in her eye.  He stands still and lets her clutch him, and strangely enough he doesn’t feel the need to step away.  The thought doesn’t even cross his mind.

He can smell the perfume she’s wearing; a light lingering flowery scent.  He wonders how long it took her to do her hair that morning.  The intricate twists and turns look artful.  In fact, her entire person looks artful, more so than usual.  Is it because she has a reputation to uphold here in her home district?  He hasn’t been blind to the stares she’s gotten since stepping into the public sphere.  Victors are always a hot commodity in their own districts, for good or bad.  He’s not sure if it’s good or bad for her, though he suspects it might be the latter based on some of the looks they’ve received so far.

“They have the most divine croissants here,” she murmurs to him, still studying the menu.  “With chocolate chips and everything!  And sometimes they’ll even put big sprinkles of sugar on the top – “  They’re called up to the counter and Sil smiles prettily at the worker.  “Two croissants, please, darling.  And a bottle of water.”  Then she turns to him and wonders, “Is that alright?  Do you want something else instead?”

He’s a little taken by surprise at her concern.

“It’s fine,” he assures her, and digs around for his wallet. 

She stops him with a determined look.  “You’re my guest, my love – “

“Really sugar, stop acting like you’re a million years old and let a man pay for your drink,” he jokes, handing several crisp bills over the counter while Sil pauses and then laughs.  She’d said the exact same thing to him in District 4.

“Honestly, Finnick,” she murmurs, smiling as he reaches forward to take the bag containing their order.  “You’re being far too much of a gentleman.  It’s a little unnerving.”

He just shrugs and winks, “It’s my job.  Now where should we eat this that will put us in view of possible paparazzi?”

She smirks and pulls him back into the sweltering streets, “I know just the place, darling.” 

They end up in a grassy park.  It’s probably the only grassy area in the city, clearly manmade to give the desert city some color.  It’s large, and there are palm trees everywhere, with benches and even several gazebos dotted here and there.  Sil makes for an empty one and sits down.  

“What do you think?  Romantic enough?”

Finnick hums his agreement and sits down beside her, opening the bag and handing her one of the large croissants.  Their thighs bump together.

“Oh, here’s your water,” he says idly, not looking up as he hands it to her. 

But Sil just raises an eyebrow and says, “It’s _your_ water, my love.”  He sends her a bemused look and she sighs in that overly dramatic way she’s so good at.  “You’re not used to the heat here,” she explains, “you need to stay hydrated.  Honestly, darling, I would’ve thought it obvious.” 

He makes a sound in the back of his throat and frowns.  “You’re getting good at this, you know.” 

She looks confused.  “Good at what?” she asks, taking a bite of her croissant and sighing as the chocolate invades her taste buds. 

Finnick stares for a moment (that sigh sends strange, unwanted shivers down his spine) before clearing his throat and saying, “Playing our little game.”

This time, it’s her turn to stare.  Does he really think she’s been playing their silly game with her concern over his health?  Is she not allowed to be genuinely concerned for him?  No, of course she’s not.  There’s no room for genuine feelings between them.  It’s ridiculous to even entertain the notion at all.  But still…she can’t deny the hurt that creases through her at the thought of Finnick assuming she couldn’t actually have concern for another person.

She brushes the hurt away with a simpered, “Darling, I’ve always been good at playing our game.”

He chuckles, and there’s an odd look in his eye that she can’t quite identify.  He swiftly changes the subject before she can think about it further.  “So I vaguely remember you saying that your father was a jeweler?” Finnick asks, uncapping the water bottle and taking a sip.  The cool liquid feels good on such a hot day.  He vaguely wonders how Sil can wear that long dress in all this sun.

Sil gives him an incredulous look and sits up.  “My father was the most famous jeweler in the Capitol!  He’s _very_ talented.  He’d have waiting lists that would stretch on for months.”

The look on Finnick’s face proves that he hadn’t been aware of this.  Sil chuckles, “Really, love.  How do you think my family became so wealthy?”

He rolls his eyes.  “Why would I care about how your family became rich?” he asks dryly, and Sil shrugs.

“I suppose you wouldn’t,” she admits.  “Though I _am_ surprised.  Gemma Cornelius is a name most people are familiar with.  He had full access to the Capitol.  He’d make trips every couple of months, and he’d usually bring me with him.” 

Finnick snorts a little.  He dimly remembers a conversation they’d had about this earlier, back in the Capitol in that tiny café he can’t remember the name of.  “That would explain your unhealthy aptitude for Capitolites.”  He’s certain he’d said something similar back then, too.

She sends him a raised brow and drawls, “Well yes, I suppose.  But father couldn’t very well leave me behind.”

“Why?  He was afraid of the tantrums you’d throw?” Finnick asks with an amused smirk.  She rolls her eyes this time.

“My mother passed away when I was a child.  I didn’t like being left behind, so my father would bring me with him,” she explains, her voice sort of snarky.  The knowledge quiets Finnick, just a little, and he even feels slightly bad about joking around so much. 

“Oh…” he coughs, clearing his throat.  He’s obviously uncomfortable.  Sil takes pity on him.  She leans back and says, “Yes.  He never told me how she died.  I suspect there’s more to the story than I know.  In fact, I’m almost positive it had something to do with President Snow.”

At this, Finnick looks up at her with surprise.  “Why would you think that?  Your dad’s not a Victor.”

She shrugs, pondering to herself if she should really say what she was about to say.  Some reckless, crazy part of her wants him to find out about her.  Wants him to see her as a person with intelligence as well as beauty.  Not just on the outside but on the inside too.  And Finnick hasn’t discovered her yet, despite being in close quarters with her for the last few weeks.  So she hums and says, “The Cornelius family has always been a bit rebellious.  I suspect my father did something to anger Snow, and the President took it out on my mother.  Of course it’s all speculation, but you wouldn’t believe the kinds of rebels my family has housed throughout the decades.”  She simpers and leans in to admit, “It’s all so very romantic, don’t you agree?”

Finnick raises an eyebrow at her and scoffs.  “Rebels?  Please.  You’re just trying to make your family seem more interesting than it is.”  He laughs at the notion and swings his arms up over the bench.  One of them cushions Sil’s head and she leans into him.  It probably looks pretty good from outside their little gazebo.  A romantic little lunch in a rare piece of shade.

Sil just laughs and leans into him.  “Perhaps I am,” she murmurs, and lets the topic drop.

But he doesn’t.  After only the breadth of a moment, Finnick slowly drawls, “Speaking of rebels, I heard a rumor recently, about the Sterling Nightingale.”

It is odd, the way Sil immediately stiffens.  He glances down at her with a raised eyebrow, watching her rearrange her features into a curious expression.  He shrugs the strange reaction off as some wayward affliction of her character and says in a measured voice, “I heard that he’s actually a member of elite society.  It makes sense, I guess.”

It’s Sil’s turn to raise an eyebrow as she childishly mutters, “Darling, there is nothing _elite_ about sneaking around the Capitol doing God knows what at all hours of the night.  I shall tell you from experience, being a part of elite society myself, that the Sterling Nightingale could never be from wealthy stock.”

With that, she nods her head staunchly, as if she is done with the conversation.  Finnick, though, just scoffs.

“How could you possibly know that?” he demands, a little tired of her frankly irritating accent.  Honestly, sometimes he wonders if she exaggerates it on purpose, or if it’s just the natural state of her voice.  With a wave of his hand, he says, “I for one would love to know who the man is.  Imagine the power that sort of knowledge would give me.  It could change my whole life.”

He’s just saying the words because he wants to hear Sil’s take on the Nightingale.  Given that she’s, as she said, part of the very same elite society that President Snow suspects the Nightingale is in, it’s an obvious thing to do.  Sil knows everyone in the Capitol.  Surely she must have a few people in mind who might fit the shoes of the anonymous spy.

In hindsight, he really shouldn’t be so surprised when she bites out an outraged laugh and shrilly exclaims, “Gracious!  What a thing to say!  Darling, there is no possible way that the Nightingale is the type of man you think he is.  High society would never stoop so low as to allow a vagabond into its midst.”

Finnick looks at her with an unreadable expression on his face, but she can see the shred of disappointment flaring through his eyes.  It’s directed at her, as always.  He’s unhappy that she would be so flippant about the topic, most likely.  As a Victor herself, Sil should understand that the deeds of the Nightingale should not be frowned upon.  She thinks it’s almost amusing, this turn of the conversation.  This wayward spiral of lies and truths all bound together in such a complicated web.

For – the Sterling Nightingale is in fact, at this very moment, pressed against his side, biting into a chocolate chip croissant with a vengeance best reserved for her other, more precarious pursuits.  Sil bites back a bitter smirk.

“Why do you want to know who the Nightingale is, anyway?” she asks in a forcibly idle manner.  She’d rather like to know where his interest lies.  It’s odd of him to so suddenly bring up such a conversation.

Finnick sighs to himself and mumbles, “…There’s no reason.  There’s just someone who wants to know, and he thinks that I’m the best candidate to figure out the mystery.”

Sil isn’t a genius, of course, but there’s something about the almost morose way he says those words that makes her carefully wonder, “And who is this person who wants so badly to know?”

She’d like to know just as badly, she thinks.

But Finnick only waves the question away with a muttered, “It doesn’t matter,” and stands up, clearly done with this conversation.  He’s not so very difficult to read, though.  There’s only one person, after all, who can ruin his mood so severely, with such permenance.  Not even Sil herself, even when she’s acting at her most aggravating, has that affect on the great Finnick Odair.

She would bet her entire life that President Snow is behind this, and that thought sends a chill down her spine.

* * *

 

It’s early evening by the time they arrive back at the Cornelius estate.  The lights are already on, the front veranda lit up with the flickering tiny stars, and a warm glow radiates from every window.  It’s a complete waste of energy.

Sil’s feet are absolutely aching by the time they step inside.  She kicks her heels off right there in the foyer and gives a rather convincing whine about how sore she is.  Since arriving at the uncomfortably luxurious estate, Finnick has reverted back into the mask he often wears to hide the sense of unfamiliarity he feels in the face of it.  He acts perfectly charming in front of others, but when it is just Sil and himself, he doesn’t bother hiding any annoyance he might feel toward her.  So it’s easy to roll his eyes and mutter something about why she would even think to wear stilettos on a trip that includes walking.

She sniffs at his scoffing and pointedly says, “I have a reputation to uphold in District 1, my love.  It’s very important to me.”  Said reputation has everything to do with appearing thoughtless and ridiculous in public.

But Finnick, who just assumes that she’s that way anyhow, laughs humorlessly, “Yes, I’ve gathered that much.”  He gives her an indulgent smile that doesn’t reach his eyes and drawls, “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll go to my room until dinner.”

She nods, barely hearing him, and they go their separate ways.  The day had been long and tedious.  Hanging off of Finnick’s arm is a lot harder than one might think.  Despite the fact that he oozes charm and sex appeal and doesn’t outright say anything rude to her, it’s more difficult than she could have imagined to keep herself centered around her job.  He’s so observant that she’s always afraid he’ll notice something out of the ordinary.  It definitely keeps her on her toes. 

But now that their public outing for the day is over with, she can turn her attention to other, more important matters.  A brief turn around the south quarters gives her the chance to inform her father that they’ve returned, and then she makes her way to her own bedroom.  When she steps inside the familiar room, she lets out a sigh of relief and tosses her heels onto the rug.  They scatter.

Her door is immediately bolted shut.  She quickly changes into more relaxing attire and enters the password to her PAAD.  The device flares to life, and only a few minutes later, a video request appears in the corner.  She pulls it up as she draws her curtains closed.  Tommy’s boyish face appears on the screen and Sil turns her full attention to him.

 _“How’s your romantic getaway?”_ he asks.  She rolls her eyes and he grins.

“I’m just happy to be out of the Capitol for a while,” she tells him honestly, and moves to sit at her desk.  “Speaking of, any news?”

Unfortunately, the only letdown of being away from the biggest city of Panem is that she isn’t there when all the major events happen.  She has to hear about them second hand.  So far, Mr. Dorsey and Tommy have kept her updated via text messages, but she doesn’t like being away from her base of operations for too long. 

 _“Actually, yeah,_ ” Tommy says, his boyish smile disappearing into a much more serious expression.  She sits up and frowns, waiting for an explanation.  It comes soon after.  _“Last night there were two more executions in the outer Districts.  This time in 10.  Snow’s bringing some of the rebel associates to the Capitol for questioning.  They’ll be arriving tomorrow night.  I doubt he’ll bother keeping them alive when he’s finished with them.”_

Sil heaves a sigh and rubs at her temples.  This was why she didn’t want to leave the Capitol.  This so-called romantic getaway is more of a hindrance than a relief, despite the happiness she feels at being home and the strange emotions she feels toward Finnick. 

“Do they have ties to 13?” she asks.

 _“Not that I’m aware of.  As far as I know, they’re just men who are trying to change things by themselves.”_   Tommy sighs, cheeks puffing out thoughtfully.  _“Still, it’s important that we do something about this.  If we rescue these men, District 10 might be more willing to aid the rebellion in the future.  Is it at all possible for you to return to the Capitol sooner?”_

Sil purses her lips.  Is it?  She doubts it would be a good idea to ask Snow for any more favors.  Breaking their ever-so romantic holiday short would be asking for trouble.  Reporters would probably make a big deal about how the two lovebirds don’t have as perfect a relationship as everyone thought.  They have to make it seem genuine.  Like they have real feelings for each other.  Returning to the Capitol even a few days early could be detrimental.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Sil responds.  “If I catch the red eye train, I can be back home before everyone wakes up.  But I’ll need an excuse should anyone discover I’m gone.”

Tommy hummed in agreement, _“It’s Odair you’ve got to worry about.”_

Indeed.  Sil sighs and mutters, “Don’t I know it.  I’ll send you my plans later.  I’ve got a dinner to attend.”

Tommy says his goodbyes and Sil closes the video chat, just in time for a knock to sound at her door.  She freezes, pushes the PAAD out of sight, and stands up.  By the time it takes her to reach her door, she’s no longer the Sterling Nightingale, but the silliest woman in all of Panem.

“Finnick!  Gracious,” she exclaims with a stupid laugh, opening the door just wide enough to peer out.  “I’m not at all decent, darling.  Is dinner ready?  Dear me, you’ve caught me quite by surprise.  How did you know where my room was, anyhow?”

Finnick raises an eyebrow at her lengthy prattle.  “The butler gave me directions.  Were you just talking to someone?  I thought I heard voices.”

She stills for a split second, then laughs and says, “Oh my.  How dreadful.  You really must get your hearing checked, my love.  What would people say if they knew you hear voices?”

He gives her one of his dry, suave, I-think-you’re-ridiculous-but-I’ll-pretend-you’re-not smiles and leans against her threshold.  “You’re hiding something.  I’m very good at picking up on secrets.”

Sil pouts and fiddles with the ties of her robe.  “I may have been going over some plans…”

His eyebrows jolt upward curiously, “Plans?”

“Of what we’re going to do tomorrow,” she finishes with a laugh.  “Let me change into something and we can walk down to dinner together, hmm?”  She disappears, but leaves the door open.  He pushes inside the room, naturally curious about her bedroom.  Secrets are often kept in such intimate places.

As Sil disappears into what must be a dressing room, Finnick turns in a full circle as he studies the décor.  His first thought is that it’s nothing like his own assigned quarters.  His second is that the painted art strewn over every wall is astonishingly lovely.  Brightly colored murals dart over a gentle tan walls.  Flowers like the ones in the hallway near his own room spring to life by the floor.  A gentle sky has been carefully painted on the arching ceilings, dotted with clouds and birds - tiny black birds with wings that gleam silver in the artificial light.  One of them is carrying a white lily in its beak.

He frowns at it, and even when he’s glanced at the other ornate furniture and the bed strewn with silk sheets and the cherry wood floors covered with ornamental rugs, his eyes always return to the flock of birds flying in paint along the ceiling.

Sil reappears in time to see what has captured his attention, and carefully explains, “Nightingales.” 

She walks to her jewelry box and Finnick turns to her.  For a moment, his churning thoughts are blown away by the sight she makes.  A short crepe dress drapes over her figure, tight around the waist before dashing to her knees in rivulets of fabric.  One of her shoulders is left bare, and her bronzed skin gleams in the soft lighting.  Her hair tumbles down her back in a wild array of waves, in a style he finds himself favoring.  Finnick shakes the thought away before it can deter his line of thinking.

“Nightingales?  What, like the Sterling Nightingale?  Are you a fan of that ridiculous rebel?”

For all of the fear she feels in that moment, Sil does a remarkable job of keeping it locked tightly away.  She gives Finnick an amused glance as she clasps diamond earrings to her earlobes.  “So what if I am?  What a romantic notion!  I could swoon just imagining what he looks like!”

Finnick snorts.  “You, swoon?  I hope for the Nightingale’s sake you don’t.  You’re heavier than you look.”

Sil spears him with a glower and waves her hand to brush his words aside.  “Anyway.  My mother used to breed nightingales in the aviary.  I’ve always loved them.  I suppose it’s just a fascinating coincidence that the greatest spy in Panem has happened to take the name for himself.”

Referring to the Sterling Nightingale as a _he_ takes effort.  But Panem has apparently decided that the spy must be a man, because they always portray the Nightingale as a _he_ in news articles and reports.  She doesn’t want to slip up and accidentally say something she shouldn’t.  This conversation is definitely treading on thin ice, but as Finnick holds his arm out for her and they step into the hallway, he isn’t quite finished with it.

“I don’t know why the rebel took such a stupid name,” he mutters, “nightingales are supposed to be peaceful creatures.  It sends an entirely wrong message.”

Sil just laughs lightly, gives him a secretive smile, and simpers, “Oh, on the contrary, darling.  From my experience, nightingales can be quite nasty.  If you get too close to them, they’re liable to _bite.”_  

And he’s really not sure why, but for some reason Finnick has a feeling Sil is referring to something completely different than what her words allude to.


	13. Of our humanity)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which the League of the Sterling Nightingale wreaks some havoc in the Capitol, Finnick's questions only keep coming, and Sil showcases her unique blend of foppish wit.
> 
> I had a lot of fun coming up with the quatrains down below. And writing Finnick's natural tendency for assuming Sil is an insipid fop! Coming to terms with Sil's identity will be challenging for him. She isn't making it easy! As mentioned previously, I am going away for a few days to a wedding, so I will see you all on Tuesday once I get back. Until next time!

**Chapter Thirteen | Of our humanity**

 

_“There he stood, the moral support, the cool-headed adviser, surrounded by a crowd of brainless, empty-headed young fops, who were even now repeating from mouth to mouth, and with every sign of the keenest enjoyment, a doggerel quatrain which he had just given forth.”  Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

 

That night, Sil boards the midnight train dressed in a dark navy Factory jumpsuit.  Her white blonde hair has been streaked with temporary brown dye to tone it down, and her complexion is perfectly disgusting.  Freckles abound, dirt scraped into skin, with wrinkles crowning her forehead and the sides of her mouth.  She appears just as any lower level worker coming from a long double shift in the Factory: tired, grumpy, and in desperate need of a bath.  The only thing that outwardly sets the two apart is Sil’s gait, which quickens the moment she steps off the train and into the Capitol station.

It’s not uncommon for Capitol citizens to commute to the Factory each day.  It’s a massive building and there are quite a few Capitolites who work there.  No one gives her a second glance as she ambles toward the line of Peacekeepers checking ID cards.  When it’s her turn, she hands him the card with her alias and fake appearance and gets the okay to move forward.  She hurries through the streets after that, walking quickly.  The station is thankfully not so very far away from Mr. Dorsey’s shop, so it doesn’t take her very long to get to her destination.

“Er, we’re _closed_ – oh,” Dorsey immediately perks up when he sees her.  This time, he’s not smoking his customary cigarette and his eyes are a little bit more alert.  She shuts the door behind her and raises an eyebrow at him.

“My disguise must be better than I thought,” she muses, but that’s about as far as their small talk goes.  Dorsey darts forward, throws the large rug aside, and kneels down to open the vault below the shop.  Tommy is already waiting inside, leaning against the thick wooden table pushed into the center of the room.  When the vault opens and she hurries inside, he looks up and brightens with relief.

“Oh thank God,” he sighs.  “I was wondering if you got delayed.”  In front of him, maps are strewn over the table.  Sil claps a hand on his shoulder and peers at the wrinkled paper.

“I need to be back before dawn in case anyone sees me walking around,” she warns, “ _no one_ would believe that _Silver_ _Lamprey Cornelius_ gets up early.” 

Tommy snorts his agreement and nods, but turns the brunt of his attention to his plans.  He’s already got quite a good one, by the looks of it.  Sil leans in and he explains to her what he’s come up with so far.

She’ll smuggle herself into the prison dressed as a Peacekeeper on his rounds.  The keys of the cell are in the guard room on the south end of the prison.  Getting in and out of the guard room should be simple.  Sil’s done it a thousand times by now.  It’s getting the prisoner out without detection that won’t be quite as easy.

“There’s a sewer grate just inside the main doors of the prison.  If you can get to it, you can get out that way,” he tells her, pointing to one of the many entrances into the sewer system.  Below that lies the tunnels, an intricate network of winding watery passages that Sil has become extremely familiar with.  Once she can get inside those tunnels, any pursuing Peacekeepers will be lost to her.  She could navigate those passageways blind.

The plan is simply constructed, as most successful ones are, but it’s not so easy in the long run.  Sil runs into trouble in the guard room when she steps inside just as the shift is changing.  For a brief moment, she’s convinced that she’s a goner.  But she trudges through the same routine the other guards do and no one seems to suspect her.  When the room empties itself, Sil takes what she needs and leaves behind a little something too.

She gets into the cell where the men are located easily enough, after some convincing that she’s not a Peacekeeper and not here to kill them (still, they’re naturally suspicious).  When they get into the sewer system though, it’s clear that they’re starting to believe her and that makes it easier for her to lead them quickly to the entrance of the lower tunnels.  It’s dark and gloomy and Sil has a feeling the prison is already searching for their two lost prisoners by the time they reach Dorsey’s shop via its lovely little sewer entrance.  They’re dumped into the vault and Sil turns to shut the grate, pulling a long tapestry up over it to hide the large circular doorway from sight.

Then she grapples with her helmet and throws it on the floor, with Tommy helping her unbuckle the rest of the armor, which she had put on over the Factory disguise.  The process takes a few minutes, which the men from District 10 spend gaping at the vault and whispering to each other how they’re standing in the Sterling Nightingale’s very own base.  Sil rolls her eyes.

“Come on, get dressed,” she orders, tossing them new clothes.  “We’re getting you to District 1 and then to 13.  Tonight, you’re workers commuting for the graveyard shift in District 1’s Factory.  Hurry up, we’ve got about five minutes before the streets start filling with Peacekeepers.”

The men swallow away their uncertainty.  They don’t have much of a choice.  If they stay, they’ll be executed.  If they’re caught, the verdict will remain the same, but at least they have a fighting chance. 

Still, one of them questions, “District 13?  It exists?”

Sil, still dressed in her Factory worker getup and looking nothing like herself, laughs dryly.  “It does indeed, and it’s your only chance of surviving.”  Their uncertainty disappears after that.

Thankfully, they’re quick about changing into the jumpsuits.  Sil has them wash their faces of the dirt and grime from the prison and thrusts backpacks at them.  Then they’re on their way, traipsing as quickly as they can through the Capitol to the station. 

“IDs?” the security guard asks, holding out his hand.  Sil hands over hers first.  Tommy, who has come with them for the next leg of the journey, gives his next.  The other two stumble nervously as the guard turns to them, but everything turns out fine.  The IDs are okayed and the guard gestures for them to board the train, just in time.  The moment they step onto it, the train starts up and the station begins to fill with Peacekeepers, shouting something about runaways and prison break-ins.  The words ‘Sterling Nightingale’ settles on everyone’s ears.

But it’s too late, and the train is already moving, and the little black embossed nightingale that Sil had left behind is added to the pile that Snow has been angrily collecting for years now.  They are on the home stretch, but safety is still far away.

Word hasn’t reached District 1 yet.  When Sil buffers the men off the train, there is no armed guard ready to capture them.  It’s a stroke of luck – either Snow hadn’t thought that District 1 would be their destination point, or he is too late rallying the Peacekeepers in the districts.  Sil doesn’t care, so long as she can get the men to relative safety before all hell breaks loose.

“I can take it from here,” Tommy murmurs to her as they head out into the district.  There are plenty of people out and about despite it being nearly dawn, but no one looks twice at them.  Their Factory jumpsuits say all that needs to be said, as well as lending them a variety of prestige.  Anyone who works in the Factory, whether it’s lower level or higher, is smiled upon.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sil mutters back, leading them through the streets she knows so well.  “I won’t leave until we reach the Victor’s Village.”

She hadn’t been entirely truthful to Finnick when he’d asked what she does with her Victor house.  It is perhaps not the best location for smuggling fugitives through the districts, but it’s a good starting point.  And besides, no one would ever suspect Silver Lamprey Cornelius to allow runaway rebels into her home, whether she lives there or not.

Tommy doesn’t argue.  It takes them around ten minutes to arrive, walking casually as they are.  They take the back entrance so as to avoid detection from any Victor who might be awake and looking out into the courtyard.  Once they are inside, Sil hurries to the basement underneath the stairs and opens the door. 

“You’ll have to lie low for a while until the Capitol has stopped searching for you,” she tells the men, who are naturally confused as to where, exactly they are.

“This is the Victors Village,” one of them drawls, his district 10 accent coming out in full force along with his curiosity.  Tommy chuckles.

“How observant of you,” he says, gesturing to the basement.  The men exchange a confused glance but acquiesce, trudging down the stairs and muttering to themselves about whose house it is and if they’re actually being led into some kind of trap.  Sil considers staying to convince them that they are safe here, for now at least, but Tommy catches her elbow when she makes to follow the men into the basement.

“You have to get back to your estate.  It’s almost dawn,” Tommy whispers to her, and Sil purses her lips.

“Okay,” she agrees after a brief moment of deliberation.  “Let me know if you need anything.”  He tells her that he will, but as she’s about to slip outside, Tommy calls her back.

“Sil,” he whispers, glancing furtively over at the basement door to make sure his voice doesn’t carry too far.  She turns to glance at him over her shoulder.  His next words chill her in ways she cannot put into words. 

“…Be careful.  There’s a rumor going around that Finnick is searching for the Nightingale at Snow’s behest.  I think Felix might have something to do with it, but…if you were thinking of letting him in on the secret, you may want to rethink that.”

She stares at him, mind flashing to the conversation she’d had with Finnick only a day before, when they were sitting in the heart of District 1.  The way he had brought up the Nightingale, musing over his possible identity, had startled her then.  She’d had a feeling, bred entirely from his final words on the subject, that someone was behind his questions, but she had hoped she was wrong.  Perhaps she isn’t so wrong after all.

“…He’s a Victor,” she carefully says.  “Out of everyone in Panem, he should support us.”

Should being the key word.  Even as she says it though, Sil knows that just because something should be a certain way doesn’t mean that they always are.

Tommy just purses his lips.  In a tone far too solemn for her liking, he responds, “He has people to protect.  You know what that means.”

Indeed she does.  It means that, despite his moral compass or his appreciation for the Sterling Nightingale’s legacy, Finnick Odair isn’t necessarily on their side.  If it comes down to choosing to protect those he loves over siding with a spy that he doesn’t even truly know – or so he thinks – the choice is obvious.  Sil couldn’t blame him for it.  She would probably do the same.  It still sends a shard of pain through her at the thought, though.

“Be careful around him,” Tommy cautions one last time, before nodding to her and disappearing down the basement to join the refugees.

Sil just puffs out her cheeks and sighs, slipping out of the house without another word.  She has a lot to think about tonight, and on top of this news about Finnick, she’s exhausted from her trip into the Capitol.  Hopefully she’ll be able to catch a few hours of sleep before anyone comes looking for her.  She manages to slip inside the estate silently, via one of the side verandas by her bedroom.  By the time she showers and washes away any trace of hair dye and make-up, Sil is dead on her feet and collapses into bed without even bothering to dry her hair first.  She falls asleep instantly.

* * *

 

As expected, Sil doesn’t wake up until very late in the morning.  By the time her eyes open, it’s practically the afternoon, which naturally sends her into a flurry of despair because she’d forgotten to set her alarm before collapsing into bed only hours before.  The worst part is the fact that she literally has no time to think up an adequate excuse for her erratic sleep times, because the moment she opens her eyes, a voice drawls her into a panic.

“You’re finally awake.  Good.  I was getting bored.”

Her eyes snap open and she throws herself up into a sitting position.  She must look ridiculously tousled, because Finnick bursts into laughter upon seeing her.

“Finnick?!” she gasps, voice sleepy and looking as unkempt as he’d ever seen her.  Her wet hair from before has dried into a tangled mess of wavy curls that looks absolutely nothing like the straight, sleek styles she usually wears.  Her eyes are framed in smoky leftover makeup that she’d been too tired to wash away completely.  Instead of giving her the appearance of a raccoon, though, Finnick rather thinks she looks a little…well, sexy isn’t quite the right term for it.  Perhaps well satisfied?  In any case, she looks like she’s just woken up from having the time of her life.  The only thing missing is the lover beside her.  Well, Finnick can make do for now.

He smirks, crosses an ankle over his knee, and leans back in one of the plush armchairs by the massive window that practically spans the length of one entire wall.  The curtains have been dragged open – both the decorative white gossamer ones and the thicker sun blocking protectors – and Sil wonders why she hadn’t woken earlier from the sun alone.  She must’ve been really out of it.

“Good morning, sugar,” he winks, and lets his eyes generously scan over her figure, probably to make her uncomfortable.  It does.

She’s wearing a nightshirt, buttoned only halfway up her chest.  The collar is wrinkled and a decent amount of flesh is on display.  She huffs at his scrutiny of her and does her own examination of him.  Naturally, Finnick looks as perfect as ever.  Even the small flaws look stunning, especially when he’s sitting in that halo of sun.

“It’s almost noon,” he tells her idly, shooting her a suave smile from his perch.  Instead of calming her, the smile only sets her more on edge.  How long has he been in here?  What did she do with her Factory disguise?  Did she remember to put it out of sight or is it still on her bathroom floor?  She throws her sheets away and stands up, ignorant of the embarrassment she should feel in the act of exposure.  Finnick flicks his gaze over her bare legs with a lazy smirk.

“Alright, I’ll admit it: you might have nicer legs than me.  Maybe,” he adds with a short nod, and Sil looks at him like he’s crazy.  He seems to enjoy the expression because he grins.  It’s such a mischievous, sly look that she wants to scream.  Instead she just swallows back her frustration, but she can’t keep her annoyance from her voice as she frowns at him. 

“Is there any particular reason for this visit?” she wonders, walking to her vanity and sitting down in a shameless display of those bare legs.

She takes one look at her hair and pouts.  Her full lips jut out as she turns her head from side to side, inspecting the tangled mess with a critical, unhappy eye.  It’s not easy to ignore Finnick, who she knows is watching her, but somehow she manages to at least do a decent job of it as she gets to work taming her mane of tangles.  Only a few seconds in and the brush gets caught.  She cringes.

Finnick chuckles.  “I was curious why you weren’t at breakfast.  Gemma said you sometimes sleep in pretty late, so I came to find you.  I was planning on rolling you up in the sheets and dropping you in the pool, but I figured it was too much work.  You should consider yourself lucky that I’m in a lazy mood this morning.” 

He suddenly appears behind her, and she glances up at his reflection with a simpering scowl.  “Thank you _so much_ for not dragging me across my mansion and dumping me into my pool, Finnick,” she drawls sarcastically.  “You are so very gracious.”  Another pained cringe flickers over her features before Finnick _tsks_ and grabs the brush out of her hand.  “What are you doing?” she asks in surprise, stiffening a little when she feels his hands gather up her hair and tumble it down her back.

“You’re going to pull it all out if you keep that up,” Finnick tells her with a crooked smirk.  “I can’t have my lover walking around the Capitol with bald spots.  It would reflect very poorly on my image.”

Sil rolls her eyes, but she can’t bring herself to pull away from him.  He’s surprisingly gentle with her.  He slowly works his way through her hair as a strange companionable silence overtakes them, broken only when Finnick wonders, “Why did you sleep in so late?  You went to bed before I did last night.”

Sil pauses, catching his eye in the reflection of the mirror, and shrugs daintily.  “I couldn’t fall asleep, so I watched reruns of that one reality show – you know, the one with the news anchor who falls in love with three different women?  Anyway, I stayed up later than I planned.”

It takes Finnick all of three seconds to scoff and mutter, “Why am I not surprised that you watch shows like that?” 

She changes her expression to one of incredulity.  “It’s a good show!  Imagine the anguish he must feel in trying to decide which woman he wants to spend his life with!” she insists, knowing at least as much about the show as that.  To be honest, she rarely watches Capitol TV, but the excuse is as good as any.

Finnick ‘accidentally’ tugs a little too hard on her hair, and Sil grimaces.  She has a feeling he does it on purpose.  “A man should know what his ideal woman is like.  Being caught up in a situation like that is ridiculous,” he mutters, running the brush through her hair in a gentler manner. 

Sil just shrugs, then curiously peers at his reflection, as if she’s measuring him.  He catches her eye and raises an eyebrow.  “What?”

She purses her lips and muses, “I wonder what the great _Finnick Odair’s_ ideal woman is.” 

He laughs and sets the brush down, drawing his fingers over her scalp in light, massaging circles.  It feels so wonderful that Sil sighs and tilts her head back, eyes fluttering a little.  Finnick watches her expression all the while, and after a moment he tells her, “I’m sure you and every other woman in Panem want to know the answer to _that.”_  

He doesn’t say any more, and Sil doesn’t push him for a better answer.  But inside, Finnick is struggling to grasp an idea of exactly the type of woman he would be interested in.  For some reason, all he can come up with is that the woman of his dreams would have soft hair, easy to run his fingers through, and a personality that would constantly keep him on his feet.

* * *

 

Unfortunately, on the third day of their reprieve in District 1, their peace and quiet is broken.  News catapults through every paper, warning the citizens that the Nightingale has struck again.  By afternoon, Sil has scoured every article on the internet and is relaying the information to her father in an excited, eager voice. 

“I wonder how he did it this time,” her father muses, leaning back and pushing his plate away from him.  Sil has hardly touched her lunch – she’s apparently far too excited to eat.  Instead, she devours the words in front of her while Finnick listens idly from across the table.

“Oh, listen to this,” Sil gasps, sitting up in her seat.  She reads, _“’The Nightingale has made yet another appearance in the Capitol early last morning when he attempted to smuggle two high-level prisoners out of the city.  Thankfully, the spy has been detained and is being held for questioning – ‘_   What?!”  She frowns at the article and furrows her brow.  “The Nightingale couldn’t have been captured – Snow is obviously lying.”

Gemma sighs.  “Silver, you couldn’t possibly know that.” 

Actually, she could, because the Nightingale is sitting at this very table, enjoying a late meal while she reads about her supposed capture and wonders what she can do to let the people know that she is very much okay.  The uprisings in the districts need someone to fan the fire, to bolster it.  Katniss has done a splendid job in sparking the fire, but Sil needs to keep pushing it.  To hear that the one person who can get loved ones out of the Capitol is captured – that is certainly a blow to the hope of Panem’s rebellion.

She sends her father a pouting look, “The Nightingale has saved so many people.  There’s simply no way he would allow himself to be captured so easily!  He’s just too romantic to get caught!” 

Finnick raises an eyebrow at her.  “Romantic…?”  Her father looks between the two supposed ‘lovers’ with a hidden smile, very much amused.

For her part, Sil manages to look perfectly consumed by the idea.  She sends Finnick a dainty simper and purrs, “Oh yes, indeed.  Why, I’m quite sure that every woman in Panem is smitten with him.”

Unfortunately, she isn’t even exaggerating.  At practically every party she attends, hordes of her Capitol ‘friends’ gush to her about how they think the Sterling Nightingale is a fanciful rogue who they adore, despite the fact that he works against their own government.  Silly creatures.

Finnick snorts at her remark, though, and muses, “He must be the bane of every man’s existence then.”

Gemma chuckles at this.  Sil simpers, throwing him an amused look.  Her eyes flash with dulled down intelligence, but she averts them to the screen of her PAAD before Finnick notices.  Instead, the District 4 Victor just leans back in his chair and says, “I thought you hated the Nightingale.”

This is a tricky situation that Snow’s put him in, hunting down the identity of the spy.  On the one hand, he can’t just ignore the command and not make any effort whatsoever; on the other, he’s got no idea where to even start the search.  And if he does, by some stroke of luck, actually find the Sterling Nightingale, he’s not entirely sure he would be able to turn the spy in.  But – pushed into a corner with Snow threatening Mags and Annie, the only people left in this world that he cares about, he’s honestly not sure what he’d do.

Sil’s eyes slice over at him from across the table.  There’s a strange look in them, unreadable almost, despite the rest of her expression being light and amused. 

“Gracious.  That’s quite an assumption, darling,” she says airily, as if she doesn’t really care for his observation.

Finnick raises an eyebrow.  “You were _just saying_ how he couldn’t possibly be part of high ranking society because your elite upper class socialites would never accept him as their own.”

At this, Sil splutters a little before settling with a scoffing, “I did not!  Well I suppose I did, but that’s only because it’s not a simple thing, getting invited to the type of parties I host.  They’re very selective.”  She shrugs, a banal expression on her face, as if this is the only basis of her argument.

Finnick shouldn’t be surprised at this.  Sil is so narrowminded to the bigger picture – and that’s a _nice_ way of putting it.  All she cares about are her parties. 

Still, he says, “I think you’re wrong.”  When she glances up at him with a curious look of impatient skepticism in her eyes, Finnick shrugs as he helps himself to more coffee.  “Just seems to make sense, that’s all.  I mean, how else could the spy know when and where to strike?  He must have a pretty strong support network.”

Of course, there’s been speculation for years about the so-called League of The Sterling Nightingale, the spy’s theoretical band of agents, but none of them have been caught yet.  The mystery behind the spy and his loyal followers remains absolute – part of the reason, he’s sure, as to why Snow is so aggravated that he still hasn’t dealt with this problem after all this time.

“If Snow did catch the Nightingale, then I guess it’s just as well,” Finnick mutters to himself, thinking about the threatening tone the president had used with him only a week before.  Honestly, how on earth would Finnick be able to find the Nightingale?  He could have spoken to the spy a dozen times without even realizing it, his disguises are so legendary.

He isn’t quite as quiet as he thinks, though.  Across the table, Sil tilts her head at him and asks, “Why do you say that?”

There’s something in her voice that makes him pause.  He isn’t sure what it is, only that he’s never heard her frilly voice take on such a serious tone.  Finnick glances at her as he puts a few spoons of sugar into his coffee and responds, “The spy can’t stay hidden forever.  Even the best kept secrets are eventually discovered.”

Sil takes a sip of orange juice and chimes, “I don’t know.  The Nightingale’s kept himself hidden for years now, and no one knows who he is.  He’s clearly good at his job.”

It occurs to Finnick, then, that this is probably the most serious conversation he’s ever had with Sil.  For once, she’s not batting his words away with her trilling laugh or changing the topic to some inane subject that only she cares about.  He studies her for a moment, surprised at this new side of her that he’s never known, and slowly reminds her, “True.  Which is why I think he’s part of elite society in the Capitol.  He’d be hidden in plain sight.”

They watch each other for a long moment.  Finnick’s actually a little confused, to be honest.  He can’t read the emotion in her eyes.  It’s something he’s never seen before.

Shrugging again, Finnick leans back in his chair and lifts his mug to his mouth to take a sip of coffee.  “Maybe he’s one of the Gamemakers, even.  Or a Peacekeeper.  No one would ever suspect him.”

Sil doesn’t respond.  She turns back to look at the screen with that unreadable expression.  Inside, though, her mind reels.  Why is Finnick so interested in finding out who the Sterling Nightingale is?  He’s never brought up the topic before yesterday, so why now of all times?  It’s strange, and there’s something in the tone of his musings that gives her pause.  It almost sounds like a craving; a certain desperation to find the Nightingale.  To find her.

What would he think if he knew that he is, in fact, sitting right across from the Sterling Nightingale at this very moment?  That the spy is not a Gamemaker or a Peacekeeper at all, but a Victor?  For some reason, she feels a strange uneasiness spread through her.  She had considered letting Finnick in on everything, but now…she’s not sure she can trust him entirely.  Something tells her not to.

“Oh, I don’t think so, darling,” Sil breezily smiles, waving her hand as if his speculations are ridiculous.  He raises an eyebrow at her and she simpers, “I have my own theory.  _I_ believe that the Nightingale works at Gigi’s!”

The sudden twist in the conversation makes Finnick blink.  Gigi’s, as in that silly department store she’s always blathering on about?  His expression turns several shades drier.

Sil trills, “He’d have all the disguises he needs!  And just think – he’d get the latest fashion before it even hits the streets!  Why, he’d be the best dressed spy in history.”  She laughs, and her laughter is actually utterly genuine, especially when she sees the way Finnick rolls his eyes at her.

Oh, he can find her as ridiculous as he wants, but her words hit the mark far better than his own speculations.  She does most of her shopping at Gigi’s and has found quite a few of her disguises on its racks.  And besides – she _is_ the best dressed spy in history.  She’s Silver Lamprey Cornelius after all.  Finnick looks like he thinks she’s the most simple-minded creature on the planet though, and it only makes her that much more amused.  How little he truly knows.

Her father chuckles indulgently at her, but Finnick appears to be finished with the conversation.  With a patronizing smile, he drawls, “Your theory sounds a little fanciful, Silver.  Besides, everyone knows that _I’m_ the best dressed person in history.” 

He smirks at her in an almost condescending way and moves to get up, but Sil stops him with a, “I’ll bet the majority of the female population would beg to differ, my love, but before you start moping around in your grief, I was informed this morning by President Snow that, in wake of the Nightingale’s recent stunt, we’re to hold a get together for some Capitolites tomorrow night.  Boost morale, you know?”

If anything, Finnick looks much more upset than pleased upon hearing this.  Sil doesn’t particularly blame him – she’s not too happy about it either.  Snow had contacted her earlier about holding one of her parties to help alleviate the strain and concern of some of the more important citizens, as well as to further solidify their own relationship in the eyes of the Capitol.  The fact that she has to hold this party at her estate, with her father there, makes her feel sick. 

Somehow, she manages to look decently excited about it, though, and when she kisses her father and prances from the room to ‘start planning!’, Sil is very convincing.  If only she could convince herself.

* * *

 

It doesn’t take very long to plan the little soiree.  By the next evening, Sil has managed to transform the veranda into a beautiful world of silk curtains and netty, mesh drapes to keep the fading sun’s glare out.  The table is set with a buffet of assorted foods, the likes of which are as rich as any from the Capitol.  When Finnick enters the scene, it’s clear that Sil has gone to extreme lengths to make it as Capitolian in nature as possible.  She’s even procured all the tinted liquors that every Capitolite seems to enjoy, even the neon green one that empties their stomachs of food. 

He’s dressed in a tuxedo, complete with a bowtie that Sil has all but threatened him into.  The wait staff has doubled, most likely by the behest of President Snow, who Finnick soon learns is responsible for the financial aspect of the soiree.  No expense is spared.  It’s a gathering fit for the elite society of the Capitol and geared entirely toward celebrating Sil and Finnick’s supposed relationship, which naturally means that Sil is dressed in possibly her most flamboyant gown yet.

Layers upon layers of sheer chiffon trail down her legs.  The skirt is short in the front and long in the back, gathering into a train of heavy skirts that seems to swirl with miniature little lights.  Upon closer inspection, Finnick realizes that there are, in fact, tiny lights embedded into the fabric.  They flash and twinkle at him like earthbound stars every time she moves to give orders to the staff or ensure that the cooks are on top of their game. 

Gemma is noticeably gone from the scene, a fact that Finnick is aware of the moment he steps onto the veranda.  He’s a little disappointed about this.  The old man might be responsible for creating such a foppish, ridiculous daughter, but he is amusing to talk to.  And the more Finnick gets to know Gemma, the more confused he is.  Sil’s father is nothing like her.  He’s grounded where she is not, makes mischievous little jokes at her expense, and certainly doesn’t hold himself with the same overdramatic mannerisms.  It’s strange to think that they are even related.  The only thing they share is a fair complexion and easy wealth.

Sil finally notices him as she’s speaking to Mr. Hale, the head butler, about restricting access to the other parts of the estate.  As Finnick approaches her, she finishes with Hale and turns to her with a critical eye.  After a brief moment of inspection, Sil huffs and steps right up in front of him.  She adjusts his bowtie carefully as he watches her.

“Really, Finnick, you’re a complete mess.  Do you even own a hairbrush?” she asks, tutting to herself about his mussed up appearance.  After she straightens the bowtie, she pats down his hair with gentle fingers.

He drawls, “Most women like the ‘just got out of bed’ look.  Where’s your father?”

“He’s resting.  He doesn’t like parties,” Sil tells him.  “I’m sure he won’t even bother making an appearance.  He hates when people pester him about coming back out of retirement.”  It’s honestly shocking how many people do.  There are plenty of other jewelers in the Capitol, but apparently none as famously known as Gemma Cornelius.  And what better way to brag than to say how your diamond necklace has been hand crafted by the most talented jeweler in the country, custom made for your own neck?

Finnick grunts.  “Too bad.  He’d probably make the evening somewhat bearable.”  He doesn’t even mean for his words to be insulting, but apparently Sil takes it that way because she sniffs and turns away from him. 

“Well, it’s only for a couple hours.  I’m sure you’ll survive _that_ long, at least,” she says airily.  Before he can respond, she’s already twirling away with another order on her lips.  Something about the flower arrangements.  He sighs.  She’s almost as bad as the escort from District 4.

Less than an hour later, people start arriving.  Finnick greets them politely with Sil by his side, arm hooked around his.  It’s the closest they’ve been all day.  They stand side by side while Sil smiles and lavishes each guest with attention, greeting them with varying degrees of dramatic flamboyance, the likes of which makes Finnick want to cringe.  There’s only about a couple dozen people total, but by the time the food starts going around, it’s as loud as any Capitol party and he’s extremely uncomfortable.  The worst thing about it is that he’s expected to linger nearby Sil, the woman that, for all intents and purposes, he’s dating.  Which means he can’t disappear for too long and has to constantly listen to her annoying laughter and _‘Dear me, my love, that’s positively scandalous!’_ gasps.

He almost can’t bring himself to watch her.  She flits around the room with the prancing exuberance that he’s seen plenty of times during galas at the Capitol, exchanging shallow conversation with everyone present.  Though, Finnick will admit, it’s almost fascinating to witness.  How does she keep that smile pasted onto her face?  Doesn’t it hurt her jaw?  How does she raise her voice to such an aggravating octave?  Why does she pepper every sentence with her ridiculous pet names?  And, most curiously, why do the Capitolites seem to worship the very ground she walks on? 

He’s in the middle conversing with several adoring women when Sil’s laughter stops and she exclaims, “Gracious!  I couldn’t possibly!”  He glances over at the gaggle of people Sil is in the middle of, which are now insistently egging her on.  He watches as she tilts her head back and laughs, “Oh fine, if I must.”  And then the room hushes down.

“Oh, this should be fun,” one of the women beside him whispers to the other, sounding overeager.  The other nods energetically back and steps forward, joining the circle for a better view of Sil.  Finnick crosses his arms and waits, wondering what could possibly be going on.

After a moment, Sil clears her throat and twirls her stemmed glass in her fingers, eyes bright as she recites,

 

_“They seek him out in every place_

_But by some stroke of luck or grace,_

_No sign of him is left behind,_

_For Nightingales are hard to find.”_

 

She simpers as everyone chuckles at her wit.  Finnick just raises an eyebrow.  He wonders if she made that up beforehand.  Surely she’s not so witty as to come up with it on the spot.  Wit requires intelligence, after all.

But then one of the women asks for another, and Sil puffs out her cheeks before reciting back,

 

_“A ghost is he who walks in sight_

_But hides just so from vaulted light,_

_And though they seek to know his name,_

_They cannot hope to play his game.”_

 

The clapping increases and Sil takes a bow.  Then she pauses theatrically, then adds, “Assuming, of course, that the Nightingale is in fact a man.”  She winks, and an entirely new conversation is started regarding the supposed gender of the greatest spy in Panem.

But Finnick is thinking about her poem.  What does she mean, ‘he who walks in sight’?  Does Sil perhaps believe that the Nightingale is someone everyone already knows?  Or is she simply referring to the Nightingale as a ghost and taking the word at face value?  Ghosts can be anywhere, invisible and hidden, in daylight or not, at least if one actually believes in such things.  The only ghosts Finnick believes in are the ones that crease his dreams with nightmares and show him images of things he’d rather forget about.

The thoughts disappear when the butlers bring out trays of desserts and after dinner liquors.  Everyone scrambles for a new glass and a slice of decadent cake.  Sil prances over to him with a piece of strawberry short cake and pushes it into his hands, giving him a firm glance as she does so, as if silently scolding him for his silence thus far.  What does she expect him to do?  Bend over backwards to accommodate these strangely clad creatures?  He is not her; he does not enjoy their company.

“You two are the talk of the Capitol, you know,” one man wearing a feathery hat claims from across the veranda.  The words trigger an immediate inflow of nodding and murmured agreements.

“Yes indeed!” one lady chimes in, “It’s all so very romantic.  Just think – two pairs of Victors, falling head over heels for each other!  It must have something to do with the Games.” 

Sil tilts her head.  Finnick tries not to scowl.  The Games?  Does this woman think that being in the Hunger Games is some kind of recipe for romance?  Sil clamps down on his arm in a seemingly innocent gesture, but her fingers are claws.  He’s not sure if the warning is for him or for her.

“Surely you’re right!” someone else chuckles, then says, “Have you enjoyed your getaway so far?” 

Finnick forces a smile onto his face and assures, “Oh yes.  I _love_ being around Silver.  She’s so witty and charming.”  He tries very hard not to drag those words into sarcasm.  Sil tightens her grip on his arm.

She careens into a series of high pitched giggles, “Dear me!  My Finnick is just so wonderful to me, is he not?”  Surprisingly, he doesn’t grimace at the term ‘my Finnick’, though he dearly wants to. 

He retaliates with a purred, “I can’t help it.  You’re just so beautiful, _my love.”_

Every woman (and man) sighs and giggles at the endearment.  He really doesn’t know how they can actually fall for this act.  It’s so blatantly obvious that there’s no love between them, but the Capitolites will believe what they want to.  It’s always been that way, and when it comes to romance, they’re all suckers for it.

He’s not sure how he manages to get through the rest of the evening.  Sil leaves him soon after to go spread some gossip around the group, articulating her speech with those silly words she always uses.  Dear me, and Gracious, and My love.  By the time things start wrapping up, Finnick’s head is aching and he craves the solace of sleep.  When the last guest leaves, Sil immediately flounces back to the veranda to ensure that everything is cleaned up.  She bids Finnick a hasty goodnight, says nothing about the hazardous words exchanged between them, and he returns to his room feeling half relieved, half disappointed.  He almost wishes that Sil had said something, anything.  Get angry.  She’s never actually argued with him, has only ever gotten annoyed or slightly upset.  Does she not feel anger?  Does she not know how to vent?

But she does, he remembers.  The image of her eyes flashing with fury when he’d kissed her like he would kiss a client hits him then.  It is the only time he can recall her getting actually upset to the point of retaliation.  He smiles and flops onto his bed.  Her eyes are rather lovely when they’re sparkling like fire.  Her anger had been dazzling, like shards of sun splintering over the ocean’s waves.  Iridescent but unified. 

The thought, like so many others, causes Finnick’s smile to drop away.  Sil may be beautiful, but there cannot be any place for her in his heart.  And he frowns deeper, because for some reason, it sounds very much like he’s trying to convince himself of it.

 


	14. That captures me with such prowess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: In which Finnick remembers the existence of the pool, Verum Inter Mendacium takes on a whole new meaning, and the last day of their supposedly romantic vacation comes to its end.
> 
> Now that I'm back from my trip, I'll be updating Tuesdays and Fridays again. Hope you all enjoy this chapter! I've added a little cover photo of the story that I was playing around with. It's not very good but I have fun with graphic art :) I might make a few more in the future

 

**Chapter Fourteen | That captures me with such prowess**

" _It was a ghostlike replica, in fact, of that fashionable gathering upstairs; a ghost that haunts every house where balls and good suppers are given; a picture drawn with white chalk on grey cardboard, dull and colorless, now that the bright silk dresses and gorgeously embroidered coats were no longer there to fill in the foreground, and now that the candles flickered sleepily in their sockets." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

Hours slip by. Finnick eventually falls into a brief but stimulating sleep. It seems that the moment he closes his eyes, his nightmares are back at full force. Being around Capitolites has staggered him. He wakes up at midnight to the sight of his borrowed room and all the luxurious furnishings that come with it. For a brief moment, he thinks he's back in the Capitol and scrambles up, still dressed in his clothes from the party. His shirt is wrinkled and his loosened bowtie seems intent on strangling him, so he rips it off. He'd like to rip the rest of the extravagant room, but he figures it would probably be rude. Sil did, after all, set this all up for him. She'd even made sure his room was right next to the –

"Pool," he murmurs. A slow smile creeps up his face. He can go swimming. The thought catapults him off the bed as he wrestles with his constricting clothing. When he is down to his briefs, Finnick strolls across the room to the French doors and quietly open them, stepping out into the enclosed patio.

He takes a moment to let the sight sink in properly. It's a small pool, nothing grand like the ones they have at the Capitol. But the entire interior is tiled with light blue and white ceramic pieces, which swirl like waves beneath the surface. The moon from above lights up the water and the surrounding pavement, giving off a pale white light that illuminates several palm trees and the hammock and poolside chairs. Above it all, cresting between the four walls of the estate that tower on each side, is a glass dome that blocks away the elements. He knows that, outside of this tiny world, the desert is cold during the nights. But here beneath this crystal glass, everything is warm and vivid and lovely, and he barely pauses before jumping into the pool.

He doesn't expect to have company.

It's after midnight, and the world should be asleep. It  _seems_  asleep. The mansion is dark and silent. But apparently there is one person other than himself who is awake. One person that Finnick seems to be unable to get away from, no matter how hard he tries.

"Dear me, what a sight you make," Sil's voice drawls. Finnick doesn't want to admit it, but he nearly jumps out of his skin at the sudden knowledge that he isn't as alone as he'd thought. He jerks around, the water cutting and parting as he searches for the body that accompanies the voice.

He finds her across the pool, leaning against a doorway that must led to somewhere deeper into the mansion. Her arms are crossed languidly over her chest, and she's changed out of her frilly gown and into something much more comfortable. Finnick stares for a moment, surprised for one reason: he has never seen her wearing trousers. Usually she just wears her skirts and her dresses. He's not sure why this makes him stumble. It's stranger that she never wears trousers at all.

"Let me guess," Finnick says after a moment, "you had a salacious dream about me and decided to catch me naked to reenact it."

Her first reaction is an amused little giggle. Her second reaction is a pause and then a forcibly neutral,  _"Are_  you naked?" To be honest, she's not sure how she feels about that.

Finnick just smirks roguishly, "Why don't you come find out for yourself, sugar." He winks and she rolls her eyes.

Instead of walking to the poolside, Sil steps to the far wall and opens a tiny little compartment built into it, unnoticed unless one is familiar with the pool's layout. She flicks some sort of switch and suddenly the entire pool is lit up with tiny lights attached to the interior tiles. Finnick's eyebrows dart up in surprise and wonder. Sil watches him, trying not to make it too obvious that she is (sort of) ogling his bare chest. Thankfully Finnick doesn't notice because he's too busy examining the little lights.

"You've got just about everything here, don't you?" he asks rhetorically, but Sil answers anyway.

"And why not? This is my world. I believe I deserve to have a beautiful one."

He turns to glance at her and decides that she's right. This  _is_  her world. It's nothing like the Capitol at all, really. It's completely Sil. Completely hers. It's glamorous in a way that isn't like the city at all, extravagant and beautiful and entirely a reflection of her own bright and vibrant personality. Finnick might not like said personality all that much, but he can at least admit to the fact that Silver Lamprey Cornelius is gorgeous.

She sends him a jaunty little smile and walks back to the doors in which she stepped out of. "Enjoy your swim, Finnick darling. I'll be in my father's workroom if you need anything." Then she's disappearing with a flash of white blonde hair and he's biting down the invitation that wants to spring from his lips.

He watches her leave instead of suggesting that she join him. She'd probably say no anyway. But suddenly he doesn't want to be alone. He wants to wrap himself up in that strangely lovely brilliance of hers, the warmth that confuses him even as it pleases him, for he can never decide if it's real or fake.

With a grumbling sigh, Finnick sinks below the water and tries not to think so hard about the confusingly transparent woman who is Silver Lamprey Cornelius.

* * *

 

Silver doesn't expect to see Finnick up and about when she makes her way to her father's workroom. It is an error on her part – she should really be more careful. Her lavish, private estate is not so private anymore. Not with the playboy Victor running around the grounds, taking every opportunity to catch her off guard.

She'd just returned from her house in the Victor's Village, where Tommy and the two men from District 10 are gearing up to leave. Extra clothes and food items were smuggled into the house, which will be empty by morning's light. Tommy will escort them to the safe house in District 5. From there, Tommy will leave them with the District 13 agent who lives in that house, and she will get them to the next district, until the cycle stops in the heart of the rebellion. They've been using this method for years now and never once has the President caught on, by some stroke of genius or luck.

Sil herself never goes out on these missions. That is Tommy's job. She can't very well disappear for long periods of time, though often she wishes she could. It's hard enough trusting these agents to play their part.

She is intent on getting some sleep tonight, but when she returns to the estate, Sil is wide awake and knows that sleep will not come easily. She is on her way to the workroom and is passing the pool when she sees movement out of the corner of her eye. Finnick is swimming. At midnight. And he looks glorious.

She comes to an immediate halt and stares at him through the darkened window. Of course she expects him to make use of the pool – that is why she put him in that particular room, after all. But for some reason, she's surprised by the sight he makes. The seductive way he glides through the water, like he's charming every atom of it without even trying.

His skin glistens with the moonlight. His bronze hair looks dark as he shoves it off his forehead, and for a moment, Sil remembers how soft it had felt when she'd run her fingers through it earlier that day. Idly, she wonders how it would feel now. Naturally, she decides to enjoy the sight. Finnick is considered the most beautiful man in Panem, and for good reason.

She leans against the threshold and eyes him, wondering just how far he would go to free Panem of Snow's dominion, and what he would say if he knew how far  _she'd_  go. After a moment, she drawls with a smirk, "Dear me, what a sight you make."

She's very amused when Finnick jumps in surprise and jerks around to face her.

His eyebrows shoot up. To her amusement, she seems to have caught him off guard for the first time she can remember.

"Let me guess," Finnick says after a moment, "you had a salacious dream about me and decided to catch me naked to reenact it."

She immediately gives into the amusement she feels and giggles, then allows her alter ego to gasp and inquire dramatically,  _"Are_  you naked?" Her eyes sparkle with hidden mischief.

Finnick smirks, and flirts, and she turns on the pool lights for him. He's a little dazzled by them, of course. They're extremely beautiful in the dark, like little wayward stars fractioning through the water. And she thinks, for a brief moment, that they are made all the lovelier surrounding him with their rays. Which is why she decides that perhaps it would be best to make a quick escape, in hopes of dashing any more of those thoughts. She can't start thinking about Finnick like that. It would ruin everything.

"I'll be in my father's workroom if you need anything," she tells him, and darts away before she can think any more about the firm, kissable muscles of his chest.

"Stupid girl," she mutters to herself as she shuts herself into the workroom a few minutes later. She shakes her head and sighs, replacing her thoughts of Finnick with the new designs she's come up with for bracelets and necklaces. She gathers together some materials and sits down, laying them out before her in contemplative silence. She wants to make use of the remaining time she has here at her estate. When she returns to the Capitol, she'd like to have a few new pieces for Mr. Dorsey.

Twenty minutes later, Sil is quite intent on her work. It's a tedious process, hammering the gold into tiny links, but there's a wonderful sense of accomplishment that goes with it. Every link that she completes is like one bullet that pierces the Capitol, insubstantial at best but deliciously subtle. President Snow would have a fit if he knew that his perfectly bred Victor is helping to fund the rebellion in secret.

She's so focused that she doesn't even notice when the door opens and in steps the figure of her so-called lover, dressed in sweatpants and a casual shirt with his hair still damp. Evidently, it's his turn to watch her. And like Sil, he finds the sight of her grudgingly fascinating.

Her long hair is swept over her shoulder and half pinned back, the front of it tied at the crown of her head in a surprisingly simple fashion. Loose curls and flyaway strands of white blonde hair settle at her neck, darkened into luxurious gold in the dim light of the workroom. A fire blazes in the hearth, no doubt for the small amount of forging that goes into the process. The light beams around her in a carefully coy way, illuminating her only partially. There is a brighter light on the desk she is working at, and it slants over her features so vividly that her eyes seem to glow. Has her nose always been that small? Does she usually bite her lower lip when she concentrates?

She notices him before he can make his presence known, a fact that both surprises him and invigorates him. Her shoulders stiffen just so, and her eyes dart over to his figure. Shameless at being discovered, Finnick steps forward and peers down at the tiny golden bracelet she's working on.

"…I didn't know you were a jeweler," he notes with a slow drawl of shock bred entirely from the thought of Sil being genuinely good at anything. Besides parties, gossiping, and socializing, Finnick rather assumed that her skills were very bare. Yet her fingers are quick, her movements sure. She is confident in this, he realizes. Talented, by the looks of it.

Sil shrugs. She ignores him for a moment, too focused on hammering the sides of the link into flattened edges. He watches her every move, fascinated by the sight, until she leans back and cringes. Her neck is sore from bending over the desk, and her shoulders are painfully stiff.

"Darling, if there's one thing I'm proud of, it's my  _craftier_  side," she tells him idly, then smirks as if she has some sort of amusing secret.

He supposes she is rather good at making things. Or at least organizing events and ensuring that  _others_  are good at making things. He's never seen her make anything before, though he vaguely recalls that her Capitol talent has something to do with fashion design. He's always just assumed that, like most Victors, she lets someone else do the actual designing and just takes credit for it.

"I suppose Gemma taught you?" he asks, taking a seat in a chair near the desk. He leans back with a sigh, completely at ease after his swim. Swimming always takes the edge away better than anything else. He's thankful this too-glamorous estate has at least something worthwhile in it.

"Oh yes," she says, digging around in one of the drawers. She pulls out what looks like a jewelry box, but when she opens it, there is no jewelry inside. Instead, the box is filled with gemstones, both rare and semi-precious. She pushes it toward him and asks, "What do you think should be the centerpiece? I was considering using emeralds."

A thought hits him then, and he inquires, "Like that song you sang in District 4?" Something about a love that could not be, defying the odds, blah blah blah. Romantic dribble. But he remembers emeralds and sapphires being the key elements. Why he remembers such an inconsequential thing, he doesn't know. He must've actually been paying attention to her at the time. Her singing voice is rather lovely, he admits.

Sil beams at him and he feels a strange sense of pleasure to see her happy. "Yes! I'm shocked you remember, my love. Emeralds mean undying love here in District 1."

She winks and picks one up. The gemstone is tiny, and flickers with the dim light of the fire in the palm of her hand. When she moves it beneath the desk lamp, though, it gleams with such a brilliant viridian green that he leans in for a closer look. No one in District 4 has such nice jewelry, and he's never really paid attention to what his Capitol clients wear. It's lovely though, sitting there in Sil's hand and blinking innocently up at him.

"I wasn't aware stones  _meant_  anything," Finnick mutters. Why would an inanimate object have a meaning? Who comes up with these meanings?

But Sil only raises both eyebrows, as if she's never thought about how someone might find such a practice odd. She glances at him and tilts her head. "A rose is a symbol for passion. Why can't a rock symbolize undying love?" The question is rhetoric and makes him scoff.

"It's a bit dramatic," he sighs. But curiosity gets the better of him, and so he wonders, "Alright. What about sapphires? What do those mean?"

Sil returns to the task at hand, hammering the little link into workable pieces. After a moment of this, she slowly says, "Faithfulness. And wearing them is good for acquiring wealth."

He starts to quiz her. Surely she can't know every single gemstone out there? And so he frowns and says, "Rubies? Crystals. What about pearls?"

And she just responds with a simple, "Desire. Healing. I believe that pearls have something to do with spirituality."

He huffs. "Did you actually  _study_  those meanings?" The thought of her studying anything, even something as ridiculous as gemstone meanings, baffles him.

Sil just blinks at him. "Dear me, no. My father taught me everything himself. As for boring things like studying, I like doing things in a more hands on manner." She watches his face clear and her mouth twitches into a smirk. Once again, he has fallen willingly into the trap of his own delusion. As long as she says it, he eats it up. Anything to convince himself that Sil is the most ridiculous woman in Panem. It works well enough for her, she supposes, as long as he doesn't figure out exactly what type of 'hands-on' work she does.

Silence falls around them, broken only by the gentle tapping of Sil's small jewelry hammer. Finnick leans back in his chair, straightens the simply pull over shirt he'd thrown on before coming here, and stares into the fire. It's a warm, pleasant sight. He wonders, suddenly, who made it. Did one of the maids come in here to start the fire? Surely Sil hadn't done it herself. According to her, she's already forgotten everything she'd learned in the Games. If she'd learned anything to begin with, that is. That is one particular mystery Finnick will have to put aside for now.

"Your family crest has a crow in it," he suddenly muses, almost to himself.

Sil stiffens.

"What?" she asks, looking at him and then to the crest that's hanging above the fireplace. She'd quite forgotten that the damned thing was there. It's a constant form of décor in the estate, hanging in every main room and several smaller ones. And there it is now, peering down at them from above the hearth. Three snakes wrapping around a bird, as black as midnight. It isn't a crow. It's a nightingale.

"I didn't see it before," he continues, studying it pensively. His expression is too calm to really make her nervous, but there are so many little dots that connects to a bigger picture – a picture that Finnick has only barely grazed, yet viewed far better than anyone else outside of her organization. She knows the precarious position she's in. If Finnick were to just tilt his head and see those breadcrumbs in a different light, he might realize who and what she is.

She struggles to remain calm, even bored. It's easier said than done, but Sil has had a lot of practice wearing her masks.

"Yes. I suppose my Cornelius ancestors wanted to somehow incorporate their namesake into the crest after they joined with the Lampreys," she mumbles, trying to look like she's focused entirely on the bracelet, and not on giving away her nerves, which are flaying into dust with every passing second.

Finnick raises an eyebrow. "How so?"

She shrugs. "Lampreys are water born eels, darling. Like parasites, they drink the blood of their prey. Hence the three in the crest. The Cornelius family used to be known for their aviaries, back in the Pre-Games era. My guess is that when the families intermarried, they changed the crest to something that incorporated both symbols."

He chuckles and jokes, "Sounds like the Lampreys used to be pretty  _bloodthirsty."_

She laughs at the little joke and then sends him a quiet smile.  _"Used_  to? Mmm. Perhaps you're right."

Finnick, as usual, doesn't quite catch on. A small favor.

* * *

 

The final day of their little vacation is rainy. When he asks Sil how it could rain in the desert, she simpers, "It's not really a  _desert_ , darling; it's just a place with a lot of sand." He's not really sure what that's supposed to mean.

Anyway, they stay inside. They've been staying inside on every other day, so it's not much of a change. Besides their trip into District 1, Finnick has stayed comfortably put in her estate, unwilling to venture out to see more of the city that is so like the Capitol in every way that matters. (And many that don't.)

He learns several things on that last day, though. The first is that when it rains in the desert, it doesn't really rain at all, not like in his home district, where a misty drizzle is normal around the clock. The second is that when Sil is bored, she is noisy.

"But father, it's just for a little while – "

"Absolutely not, Silver," Gemma says, and Finnick ventures toward the argument curiously. To be honest, he's been avoiding Sil all morning after she unwittingly suggested they go to some weird rave in the heart of District 1 _. 'Oh but it's open all day long, and as Victors we'd get free drinks and everything- '_

Apparently her new suggestion isn't much better. There's some party going on tonight (what's  _with_  her and parties, anyway?) that she would apparently love to go to because all the best people will be there. Finnick has a feeling that their ideas of the best people are staggered very differently.

At least her father has some sense about him. He barely looks up from the paper he's skimming when he tells her, "If I let you go, you'll get into some kind of trouble that will require me to come rescue you."

She scowls. "I'm not a  _child_  anymore."

Gemma sighs and finally turns to look at her. There's a critical look about his eyes that makes her stand a little straighter. After a moment, he grumbles, "No, I suppose you're not. Lord knows how much you look like your mother. Unfortunately you didn't inherit her sensibilities."

The barb is subtle, but Sil just huffs like she's heard it a million times before. It's an old argument, Finnick realizes. He feels a little uncomfortable being in the middle of it, until Gemma notices him and brightens. "Finnick! There you are. Thank goodness  _someone's_  looking after my daughter while she's fumbling around in the Capitol." He wisely decides not to mention that he doesn't do much 'looking after', and the small amount he does do is completely unwilling on his part.

Sil sniffs, "I don't  _fumble."_

To be honest, the whole conversation is starting to feel a little circular – until Sil smiles and hooks her arm around Finnick's waist, dragging him into her side with a simpering, "Besides, if Finnick accompanies me, I'm sure I'll be taken care of."

The net has been cast, so to speak. Gemma looks like he's actually considering this whole ridiculous plan. Finnick hurries to detangle himself from his fake lover before it can be solidified. He has no desire to go to some disreputable night club.

"I'm afraid I feel a little ill, actually. I think I'll have to sit this one out."

Sil looks at him like he's just betrayed her greatest and most well-kept secret.

"Finnick!" she whines. The sound makes his ears hurt.

"Silver," he says back.

He's sure they're about to start another silly argument when Gemma cuts in, "Well, that settles it then. Silver, perhaps you can make Finnick some tea. You should rest up, young man. You'll be leaving for the Capitol tomorrow. Enjoy the solitude while it lasts." The gentle undercurrent of gravity in the old man's voice makes Finnick perk up a bit.

Gemma confuses him almost as much as Sil does. Both of them seem to be in their own sort of world. Sil's world is silly and occasionally peppered with a strange sense of solemnity. Gemma's is just vibrant and mischievous and he keeps Finnick on his feet trying to work out any possible hidden meanings behind his words.

Silver's face drops into a childish frown, but she doesn't complain further. Instead she just huffs to herself and pouts, "Oh very well. Shall we head to the kitchens, darling?"

Finnick clears his throat and says, "No need. I think I'll just go lay down for a while." He leaves without waiting for her response.

For some reason she just stares at his retreating back with a blank look on her face, as if she can't wrap her head around why he is so quick to brush her off. Does it…does it  _hurt?_  There's this strange dull pain in her chest that she cannot identify. Surely it's nothing she has to worry about? Probably just some food that went down the wrong way.

Gemma just smiles, shakes his head, and looks back down at his paper. A moment later, he softly drawls, "That boy had better not break your heart."

She tilts her head in confusion and turns her him. "Whatever do you mean, father?" She doesn't love Finnick. She doesn't even like him.

Gemma only sighs. "Oh Silver. How blind you are."

She's been accused of being a great many things in the last few years, but blind? Try as she might, she cannot figure out why her father would say so.


	15. As to tip the sides of this ship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Sil and Finnick return to their lives in the Capitol, the Quarter Quell plans are put into motion, and Sil is tasked with a specific goal that she isn't altogether happy about.

 

**Chapter Fifteen | As to tip the sides of this ship**

" _She often wondered what went on in that slow-going head of his. He never told her, and she had never cared to ask." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

The Capitol is a living, breathing beast. Its gray streets are cemented with a misery that is so easy to brush aside, so easy to hide away with brightly colored fashion and shallow implications. It is almost second nature, really, to pretend that the largest city of Panem is the perfect utopia President Snow claims it to be. The citizens in this tiny, indifferent world barely even realize the corruptness themselves.

Despite the chaotic quality of the last two weeks, the short journey to their two consecutive districts had been a breath of fresh air for both Finnick and Sil. Returning to the Capitol is utterly dismal by comparison, like waking up to a nightmare within a nightmare. Every pasted on smile and pretentious laugh is just another layer added onto a terrible dream that has been unraveling for years.

Sil gets no break from it. The moment she returns to the Capitol, she is tossed back into the den of lions. Snow sends her schedule barely hours after she returns to her apartment. Soirees and parties and prepaid dates outline the upcoming week. Snow's secretary is nothing if not thorough.

"You're settling in okay?" her father's calming voice questions her over the phone. She'd called him the moment she arrived in her apartment, breathing in the relief that the peace and quiet bore. The seemingly simple trip from the train station to the heart of the city had been taxing, to say the least. Every Capitolite had heard that Finnick and Silver's romantic vacation had come to an end, and reporters were eager for proper interviews regarding just how romantic it had been. Apparently their fake love life is extremely riveting.

"Father, I only just returned," she laughs, but it's a tired sound. She masks the emotion with a quick, "I miss you already." It is the first honest admission that she'd made today.

Gemma chuckles. The sound of it is so comforting that Sil closes her eyes and smiles.

"I miss you too, dove," he says. "The house is so boring without you in it. I'm glad you have Finnick to keep you company while you're away." The words are delivered in a way that hints at some mischievous intent. Naturally, Sil huffs at the thought.

Finnick had disappeared the first moment he could. A lingering kiss on her cheek (in plain view of the gushing crowds), and he was gone, traipsing away to his own apartment to unwind. She hadn't heard from him since, though it had been a few hours ago, and a part of her is unhappy about how they had parted.

She'd had so much fun in District 4 – more than she'd expected. She had seen Finnick in an entirely new light, seen him as he is without his Capitol mask and flirty pretenses. The vacation had been brief but powerful in its sense of reprieve. She'd rather thought that perhaps he had enjoyed himself as much as she had, but clearly she is wrong. This whole relationship is a charade. The thought of Finnick actually enjoying her company is a beautiful but impossible thought. And keeping her company? Well, no doubt he'll do that, but it won't be because he wants to.

"Silver?" Gemma asks, prompting her out of her lingering silence.

She gives a little laugh and says, "Yes indeed. Finnick's hardly left my side since we've arrived. I think he's a little smitten with me." The lie tastes sour, and her father pauses. Does he believe her? Does it matter? She glowers at the floor. Her job is to convince everyone that Finnick and her are in love, but it's a lot harder than it should be.

Her father hums. The low burring sound crashes through the earpiece of her cellphone and makes her cringe. Lying to the Capitol is one thing; lying to her father is quite another.

"You're a wonderful girl, Silver," Gemma tells her lightly. "Anyone would be happy to be with you. Finnick will come around eventually, I'm sure."

How does her father see right through her, even when miles purge the distance between them? Her eyes fill with tears. Childish imperceptions. It's barely been a day and she misses him.

Her father pauses briefly before adding a hesitant, "Perhaps you should show him who you  _really_  are, darling. Take that mask off. I know you wear it for the Capitol to see, but when it comes down to love, there is no place for such things."

Her tears spill over.

"…Perhaps you're right, father," she says after a lengthy moment spent ensuring that her voice won't wobble with emotion.

How she wishes it were that easy! But her mask is not merely for the Capitol. She hides herself away for a greater purpose, and even Finnick Odair cannot be allowed to know the woman she really is.

She yearns for him to see her. She longs for the sincerity she cannot have. But a reputation is all a Victor has in this terrible world, and hers does not just hide the scope of her personality, but the darkness that wells up from the depths of a rebellion too tempestuous to ignore.

* * *

 

Silver Lamprey Cornelius is not easily overlooked. Her flamboyant outfits blend in wonderfully with the other Capitol fashions, but there is something magnetic about her that draws attention. Such is the way it is with Victors. They cannot go anywhere without people recognizing them in a crowd, but Sil has a peculiar disposition for remaining unseen even in the whirlwind of the Capitol – when she has a mind to, that is.

The second day of her return, she steals away into the streets looking nothing like her usual self. There are no feathery hats or yards of expensive colorful fabrics. No annoying laughter or too-wide smiles. She is dressed in loose pants and a pull over shirt. Her hair is stuffed into a hat and the make-up she's wearing disguises every aspect of her that should be familiar. Tonight she is not Silver Lamprey Cornelius, but a rebel walking in plain sight of the Capitolites, who look over at her with disregarding, inattentive glances.

Mr. Dorsey's shop is closed this time of night, of course, but that doesn't stop her from entering. The man himself barely looks up at her from the counter before standing and pulling up the rug that hides away the door to the vault beneath the shop. Her masks are flawless, but Mr. Dorsey knows her far better than most.

"He's down below," Dorsey tells her, pulling the thick metal door open for her. She gives him a nod and disappears into the belly of the vault, which has been her base of operations for years now.

Plutarch Heavensbee looks peculiarly out of place in the tiny industrial room. He's dressed in an expensive suit, and his soft silk tie is probably the nicest thing in the vault. When she enters, he looks up and tilts his head at her. It is not the first time they've met face to face, but the easy way she changes her appearance still unsettles him. She approaches with a short nod and says by way of greeting, "Plutarch."

He gives her a small smile and chuckles, "Nightingale," instead of using her real name. It makes her own head tilt, mirroring his position perfectly.

"I take it you've been planning?" she inquires, stepping over to the table positioned in the center of the room. It's a large table for such a tiny space, and it is littered with maps and pens and such things. Plutarch had already been pouring over one of those maps by the looks of it.

"Planning is  _your_  job," he tells her with a quirky smile. "But I do have an idea. It's dangerous and could very well backfire, but it's all I've got."

"So it's right up my alley," Sil jokes. Then in a more serious manner, she asks, "I hope it involves stripping the Capitol of its Games?"

Plutarch slips his hands into his pockets and smirks, "It goes one step further than that. If everything goes smoothly, I plan on getting every Victor to District 13 and out of Snow's hands."

She stares.

"That's quite a high order," she murmurs after a thoughtful moment.

"Yes," he agrees, "but think about it. Snow has always manipulated Victors into doing exactly what he wants. Removing them from his manipulation and getting them on our side is imperative for success. Katniss is already in the eye of the storm. Where she goes, others will follow. We need the Victors to win this war."

Katniss is certainly in the eye of the storm, though she has little knowledge of her position within it. It isn't Plutarch's plan that gives Sil pause though, it's the fact that every Victor shares a common feature. Stubbornness. Not to mention that many Victors still have something to lose and have been 'trained' for years not to get on Snow's bad side or else the consequences would be damning. For some of them, this mindset will not be so simple to break.

She straightens her back and focuses back on connecting the dots of Plutarch's words. Thinking about Victor-turned-rebels is a matter for later. "…So you're plans involving the Quarter Quell…?"

He raises a brow. "Having Snow reap the Tributes from the pool of Victors."

Silence cascades around them as Sil grapples with this new idea. Something inside of her plummets – something she has long ignored. Fear? Fear of Snow, of the Games. Nightmarish memories she tries so hard to forget. The thought of going back into the arena, for whatever reason, makes that fear solidify within her like diamonds that have lost their shine.

"Coin agrees with this plan?" she slowly wonders, eyes drifting sightlessly to the large map hanging on the opposite wall. A lovely, expensive piece. All fabric, embroidered with stitches that outlines every district, including 13. Her gaze lands on that one, twisting over the curled numbers that mark it as the home of the rebellion.

Plutarch looks down to the table, shifting his weight to the side. In an equally slow voice, he tells her, "…She's come around to it. She wants you to pick out the Victors you think will be trustworthy. The sooner we can plan this out, the better. The announcement is only a month away."

Sil's immediate reaction is to toss her head back and laugh. Coin wants  _her_  to pick out the Victors? Victors who she's never actually gotten to  _know?_

"I'm not sure if you're aware of this, Plutarch dear," Sil drawls, "but the other Victors hate me. I'm afraid I'll be of no use in this matter."

He sighs. "I'm sure you'll figure something out, Silver. Ask Finnick. Consult that PAAD of yours. It's full of information."

He obviously isn't going to let this go. She purses her lips and hesitantly nods. Asking Finnick about his opinions of the other Victors doesn't sound like a good idea, but she's the Nightingale. She changes masks like the tide. And she's already in a decent position with the Capitol Daydream from 4. If she plays stupid, he won't question her sudden curiosity. He hasn't questioned her yet, after all.

Plutarch smiles slightly. "The Pre-Games Gala is at the end of the week. Every Victor will be there. It'll be the perfect opportunity. And you'll need to convince Felix to take the bait – Snow relies on him. If he's against the Quell idea, then it's a no-go for us." He pauses, then says, "Ah…and there's one more thing."

She glances at him and is immediately struck by the serious expression coloring his eyes. A feeling of dread bullets through her. Somehow she knows that she's not going to like whatever he's about to say.

"Regardless of whether or not you're reaped, Coin wants you in the Capitol afterwards. Your intel is too valuable. You'll be a key player in whatever comes next."

She could laugh at the irony. It doesn't matter if she is helping the rebellion. It doesn't matter what she does, or says, or who she pretends to be. She is doomed to a life in Capitol, regardless of whether or not she deserves it.

Duty before pride.

The Nightingale will continue to sing.

* * *

 

It is easy to mistake trust with prudence – a trait that every Victor possesses. They are careful around the Capitol, cautious about expressing true, sincere feelings. They know that one wrong move, one misguided word, can have tremendous repercussions. They spend their whole lives after their Games working around President Snow and feigning loyalty to him. Even if that loyalty is as false as the happiness they exude in public, trust is not a simple matter. And garnering it from the other Victors is another matter entirely.

It is not an exaggeration to say that the Victors dislike Sil. She is used to the way they 'borrow' this dislike from the Capitol and thrust it upon her. It is an ever present shadow that burns in their eyes every time they see her. Every laugh that trills from her lips, every too-wide smile she sends her Capitolite 'friends' makes it double. It festers in the shallow causeways of their hatred.

They do not trust her.

But they do trust Finnick. Or at least, they trust him as much as one can trust the Capitol playboy. The difference between her and Finnick, though, is that he does not hide away his hatred for the Capitol when all the Victors are gathered together. And she does not only hide her hatred, but also the very threads that spin her entire personality together. She is only too aware of this tonight.

Another night, another Capitol party. The Pre-Games Gala is an enormous gathering of important people, from wealthy Capitolite entrepreneurs to Victors, and even a selection of outer district mayors. The stateroom they are gathered in is beautiful and wondrous. It is also filled with the shallow simpering gossip of Capitol citizens, who clamor around the Victors like flies to honey. What lovely masks they all wear! But none are as lovely as hers, because even though Sil's mask is as fake as theirs, hers is also true. Lies are, after all, hidden in truth.

"There she goes again, cozying up to those bastards," Cashmere mutters around the rim of her champagne glass. This particular party is more high scale than the last. The Victors are left to their own devices and are served expensive looking champagne and flutes of strange Capitol drinks. Of course, Haymitch has no need of those engineered liquors; he carries a flask of liquor with him wherever he goes.

Snow's announcement of the Quarter Quell is only a few weeks away, and the Capitolites are making the most of the anticipation. Conversely, Silver is making the most of their excitement. The way she manages to flit around the room with that huge smile honestly surprises the other Victors, though they should really be used to it by now.

"Ugh. Can we  _not_  talk about her tonight?" Johanna complains darkly, arms crossed over her chest. The restricting dress she's wearing is coffee-colored, like mocha against her sun kissed skin. It makes her dark hair look lighter, highlighting it with the illusion of caramel. Johanna looks classy. The other Victors do, except for one.

Silver is dressed as flamboyantly as ever, like it's some kind of personal contest for her. How can she make herself look even more ridiculous than before? Tonight, the crush of velvet forest green is overly gaudy, and the silk fabric on the inside of the dress flutters and twists itself into visibility every time she moves. ("It's the silver lining of the gown, darlings! Get it?  _Silver_  lining – haha!") Ridiculous really doesn't even cover it.

Finnick is dressed in a smart looking suit that Sil no doubt had forced him into. He looks distinctly uncomfortable at her side, but one could only tell by the stiffness of his shoulders. The Capitol playboy is a remarkable actor, and only occasionally fiddles with the matching velvet bowtie that's clasped around his neck like a noose. They look like quite a pair, standing in their own personal sea of Capitol admirers.

"I bet they're already trying to get sponsors for the upcoming Games," Brutus mutters with a sneer. Apparently, he also brought along his own flask, which he's been discreetly adding to his drinks all evening. He's much quieter about it than Haymitch, who often doesn't even bother trying to hide and just takes quick sips right from the metal container, much to Peeta's displeasure.

The star-crossed lovers obviously don't want to be at this particular party (or any party, for that matter). None of the Victors do. To say these gatherings are mandatory wouldn't be an exaggeration. If they were to turn down the invitations, there would be consequences. It all works out quite well though, considering. The Victors from 12 are already in the Capitol anyway, finishing up the last few interviews of the Victory Tour that had technically ended last month. The reporters clearly want to keep the lovebirds as popular as they can before the new Games are announced.

"Smart of 'em," Haymitch drawls as he eyes Finnick and Sil, already well on his way to drunkenness. Peeta scowls at his former mentor and makes an attempt to grab the flask from his pocket. It doesn't work, naturally; Haymitch guards his liquor as if it's the last left on earth.

Katniss rolls her eyes at the two and sighs. "This is so stupid. Why do we even have to be here?"

Her mentor gives a bark of laughter and dryly explains, "You're really not in any position to refuse right now, sweetheart. Snow wants your head."

Katniss scowls and mutters, "As if I care what Snow wants."

Nobody answers her because there's really nothing left to say. They just sit there listlessly as the party moves around them. Capitol accents chatter endlessly, gossiping about every stupid little thing imaginable, from what new fashion styles are trending to what people think will be the theme for the upcoming Quarter Quell. It's all useless drivel that the Victors tune out…until Silver Lamprey Cornelius descends on them with Finnick in tow.

"Oh dear," the annoying pitch of her voice sounds, drawing them out of their daydreams in all the worst ways. Her posh accent from District 1 grates on their nerves. Even Cashmere and Gloss, who are more used to it than the others, cringe a little. It's not only the voice itself that annoys them, after all, but the person wielding it. Silver raises her eyebrow at them, teetering in heels that look downright treacherous. They even have silver spikes on the back. Honestly, they could probably be used as a weapon if she had the mind to.

"You all look so bored," she observes dryly. "How positively dreadful." She blinks owlishly at them as she takes a sip of some kind of pale alcohol. Her kohl lined eyes are perfectly smudged, and there's this tousled look about her tonight that the Capitolites are eating up. The other Victors are not so impressed.

Finnick clears his throat a little and sits down next to Katniss, who shifts away in a not-so-subtle manner. Naturally, Finnick grins at this and shifts closer, sending her a smirk that is clearly amused. Sil laughs and sits down next to Finnick, much to the surprise of the others. She rarely spends time with the Victors at these kinds of social events. Even Finnick looks a little curious.

"You must be tired," he says slowly, eyebrow raised like he's trying to figure out the newest puzzle. Sil only shrugs and fans her face with a hand, one leg crossed demurely over the other like she's some kind of princess or something. Johanna rolls her eyes.

"Hmph. To be honest, my cheeks are a little sore," she tells him idly, flashing him that too-wide smile. It makes her look ditzy.

Finnick snorts. "Wow. I have no idea why that would be." He takes a furtive look around the room before sighing and laying his arm on the couch behind her head. They do have an image to uphold, after all, and he doesn't have any intention of kissing her in front of everyone like he did last time. Though the idea of seeing those sparkling angry green eyes of hers does make him almost want to try. Almost.

Sil doesn't appear to even notice the mock-intimate gesture. She hardly spares him a glance as her eyes dart quickly over the room. There's something tense about her tonight, something that Finnick has taken note of the moment they'd stepped into the stateroom. It makes him wonder if there's something wrong. What is she so uneasy about? But for her part, she excels at disguising said unease, and Finnick only notices because of the time they'd spent together on their little romantic vacation.

"Oh, look – " Sil suddenly blurts, "there's Beetee from District 3. Or is it District 5?" She scrunches her nose up thoughtfully and Finnick raises an eyebrow.

"He's from 3, Silver," Finnick says. He's got no idea why she's suddenly taken such an interest in the Victors from the other districts. The only Victors he's ever seen around her are Cashmere and Gloss and of course himself. Everyone else makes a strict effort to stay away from her.

She pauses. "Ah…of course. District 3. I think I'll go over and say hello. Do excuse me, my love." And before Finnick can ask why she'd bother greeting a man he's never seen her talk to, Silver is gone. The others stare after her, roll their eyes, and proceed to revert back into their bored silence. But Finnick watches her, the way she flounces through the crowd, spins gracefully around Capitolites, and sends Beetee from District 3 a beaming smile that could put the sun to shame.

"Evening," Sil chirps at the geeky looking man. She's hardly ever noticed him before, but he cleans up very well. He looks dashing and very intelligent in his black tux – and strictly dressed compared to some of the other Victors. Instead of the just-rolled-out-of-bed-and-still-undeniably-sexy look that Finnick always seems to ace, Beetee looks crisp and cleanly poised. His clothes are in perfect condition, his bowtie excellently tied, and there are no wrinkles in sight.

He also looks perfectly confused at the chatty Victor in front of him.

"…couldn't help but notice, you see. And of course I've heard great things about you, my darling. It's really a tragedy that we've never been properly introduced, don't you agree?"

Beetee is, naturally, at a complete loss for words. "…Um." He stares at her with a weird look on his face. Sil pretends not to notice.

"I'm glad we see eye to eye," she titters, waving a hand in the air. The glittering jewels she wears on her fingers catch the light and glimmer. Beetee raises an eyebrow.

"This must be one of the other Victors from your district," Sil says graciously, and extends a hand to the other woman beside Beetee, who has wandered over somewhere in the middle of Sil's lengthy and thoroughly forgettable speech. "Good evening, my dear. My name is – "

"Silver Lamprey Cornelius. We know who you are," the woman says with an almost deadpan look in her eye. She stares at Sil's outstretched hand for a moment, as if deliberating, before reaching forward to grasp it. The handshake is as desolate as the look in the woman's eye.

Sil laughs obnoxiously. "But of course you do!" she agrees, shoulders stiff and gaze resolute. "And you're…let me think…Wiress! Yes, of course. Wiress and Beetee. A pleasure."

The woman pauses like she's surprised that this silly Victor has remembered her name (she probably is), and her mouth twitches. Beetee clears his throat and pats the woman's back as a father might pat his daughter's head. The two Victors are roughly the same age, but the almost dreamy look in Wiress's eye makes it seem like the age gap is larger.

"…Was there anything you wanted?" Beetee asks carefully. His voice is low and thoughtful. Slow, too, as if he's deliberating each word before he speaks. Sil does suppose that it's rather strange that she'd come over and speak to them so randomly. Of course he's hesitant around her. She's technically a Career, though she's never embodied the same Career-like tendencies that some of the others have. Still, she's from District 1. Why she would bother approaching someone from a district like 3 is clearly beyond Beetee, and rightfully so.

Sil gives him her dizzying smile and shrugs delicately, "Oh no, not really. Only it occurred to me that I haven't spoken to either of you before. It's quite the party, don't you think? I'm sure you'd rather be back in District 3." She adjusts the crushed velvet elbow-length gloves she's wearing and idly says, "I would certainly rather be back home. The Capitol can be so…tiresome, don't you agree?"

Beetee blinks at her. Wiress immediately nods.

Sil chuckles. "Oh don't get me wrong, darlings! I do adore a good party, you know, but it can get tedious being around so many  _loyal Capitolites_  for such a long time. Just a moment ago I was speaking with the CEO of Gigi's – you know, my favorite store – and he was droning on and on about President Snow's recent visit with his granddaughter – and do you know what I thought? I thought, 'Gracious, how on earth Snow runs this country when he's off parading through every department store he can find is beyond me.' It makes you wonder how seriously our President takes his job – "

"I'm sure President Snow takes his job  _very_  seriously," Beetee says before Sil can keep talking.

She stops, smiles minutely, and slowly says, "I think you're right, Beetee. Perhaps a little too seriously. I wonder what the world would be like without such a strict government in place." A fascinated and contemplative look crosses Beetee's face, and Sil laughs stupidly, "Gigi's would go out of business, I'm sure. What a dreadful thought!"

She expects the serious gleam in Beetee's eyes to disappear when he hears the offhandedly, thoughtless comment, but Beetee only tilts his head and slowly nods.

"Perhaps the world would benefit from having less stores like that. The economy for smaller businesses surely would." The diplomatic words make Sil's head tilt this time, but not in thoughtful contemplation.

He has unknowingly given her the green light. By admitting that the world would be a better place without such a large gap between the wealthy Capitol and the destitute districts, Beetee has basically told her that he would be happy to see Snow gone. Happy to see a different sort of government in place. And, perhaps, happy to join a rebellion that will do all of these things and more.

They stare at each other for a moment. The intelligent gleam in Beetee's eyes makes Sil wonder if he is more aware of what he said than she'd thought. It's almost like he sees right through her. The discomfort it brings makes Sil hurry to fill the silence with more meaningless words. She starts talking about the silly plans she has when she gets back to District 1. The first moment she can, she flags down some random Capitolite that she pretends to know quite well, just to remove herself from the conversation.

The Capitol woman looks positively enamored at the attention, and Silver smiles at Beetee and Wiress as the woman approaches. "I'm afraid I'll have to take my leave, my darlings. Perhaps we'll speak again after the Quarter Quell is announced." She nods her head at them and hooks her arm around the random woman, immediately striking up a conversation about the upcoming Quell announcement, who gushes right back with an eager expression.

As the unlikely duo disappears into the crowd, Wiress frowns. "Odd that she would come up to us out of the blue like that."

Beetee watches the strange, silly Victor as she vanishes and shrugs. He adjusts his thick rimmed glasses and glances down at Wiress with those intelligent brown eyes of his. "…Yes. I wonder what she was  _really_  talking about."

The words would confuse anyone else, but Wiress just nods sagely. "It's a maze. We'll have to find the center."

Let it not be said that the Victors from District 3 are only good at reading instruction manuals.

* * *

 

Sil finds Johanna next. The Victor from 7 has been lured away from the group of other Victors by the promise of stronger alcohol. Sil suspects that it is probably the only thing that would successfully draw the stoic, angry woman into a crowd of people she hates so much. It works in Sil's favor, though, because with Johanna alone, any attempts at figuring her out will be easier without the others listening in.

Testing the waters of Johanna's rebellious spirit is not difficult. The Victor openly loathes the Capitol and rarely tries to hide her hatred. But will the woman actually be willing to risk her own life for the cause? Sil thinks she will, but she wants to be sure before she gives Plutarch the go-ahead to recruit Johanna.

She sidles up to Johanna at the bar, where she's waiting for the bartender to make a few drinks. Johanna gives Sil one hard look before scoffing and sending her a scathing glare with no shortage of disgust. Sil smiles in return.

"Johanna," she greets.

"…Silver," the woman frowns, then proceeds to ignore her.

Well. The years of their acquaintanceship (if one could even use that term) has given Sil a pretty good idea regarding what Johanna is like. There will be no beating around the bush with her. A straightforward inquiry is a better approach. Johanna won't bother responding if Sil tries anything else. She knows from personal experience. Seven years is a long time.

"What do you think about rebellions?" she asks innocently.

Johanna, who is in the middle of taking a sip from one of the mixed drinks in front of her, coughs rather loudly and spits the alcohol back into the glass. Sil scrunches her nose in disgust and hands her a napkin with a dry expression. Johanna snatches it with a narrowed look and hisses,  _"What?"_

Sil blinks. Her face is a perfect display of ignorance and confusion, as if she can't figure out why her question has caused such a reaction. With a shrug, Sil lies, "Well – I was just talking to a man over there, who told me that he wished there were more specialty stores in his neighborhood. I told him the only way that would happen was if we had a rebellion and forced all the workers to go on strike – that would definitely get the President's attention, I think. Then more designer stores can be built in every neighborhood – which would be very convenient, my love, because it takes me ten whole minutes to get to Gigi's from my apartment, and I think it's terrible."

She prattles on about how she's even thought about moving just to be closer. While she does, Johanna stares at her like she's got two heads and numerous other problems. After a moment of this, Sil pauses, and then leans in, rests her chin on her hand and asks again, "So. What do you think about rebellions?"

Johanna laughs bitterly. It's really more of a sneer than a laugh. She jeers, "The only rebellion worth fighting would be one that destroys this entire fucking city."

Then she grabs her drinks and pushes away from the bar like she can't wait to get away from Silver…which is most likely true. Sil hums, smirks at Johanna's back, and then waves down the bartender, "One of your cherry liquors, darling, if you would. I'm feeling a bit adventurous."

Two Victors down. She doesn't want to think about how many more there are left. If only the others could be as simple as Johanna.

Sip tips the liquor back and swallows it all at once. A little liquid courage goes a long way in her line of work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't resist using this gif guys. Johanna's anger makes me weirdly happy, which is probably something I should be worried about lol


	16. O'er the clash of love;

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which the Pre-Games Gala takes an interesting turn, and Finnick becomes tied to Sil in a far more concrete way than she could have ever anticipated...
> 
> Plot twist in this chapter. Hope you enjoy the scenes between Sil and Finnick ;)

 

 

**Chapter Sixteen | O'er the clash of love**

" _Perhaps, after all, she had been deceived just now; what she took to be the light of love in his eyes might only have been the passion of pride or, who knows, of hatred instead of love." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

Fortunately, it doesn't take as much effort to discern the Victors loyalties as Sil originally thought. Granted, some of the Victors can be hard to read, and she is forced to go up to them and speak with them properly. But others, like Haymitch and Blight from District 7, are easier to observe.

She spends the entire night flitting between Victors and Capitolites alike. Her socializing skills come in handy as she maneuvers carefully around caustic personalities. Several hours in, she is exhausted but proud to say that she has a strong list of possible recruits for Plutarch.

She's on her way to test the waters with Enobaria and Brutus from District 2 when someone's hand slides over her arm. Naturally, she assumes it's Finnick. He's been moving between her and the others all night too, occasionally sweeping her off for a dance or getting her a drink. It's been a good fifteen minutes since she'd last seen him, so Sil grins happily and turns around, saying, "Finnick! I was wondering where you'd gotten off to – oh."

It's not Finnick. It's Felix. She flounders.

"Silver," Felix greets, though there's nothing warm or inviting in the gesture. He steps forward with a dangerous smile and murmurs, "I'm a little upset now. Am I not good enough for you, or is Finnick Odair all you want?"

She waves her hand with a nervous laugh and says, "Gracious, Felix. Why ever would you think such a thing? I'm quite happy to see you, my darling. Dance with me."

The suggestion is bland, squeezed into existence by an unwilling heart. But she knows she would have had to find him tonight anyway, regardless of when or how. Plutarch had said that Felix wasn't entirely convinced of this Quarter Quell idea. She has to change that.

He tilts his head but agrees, holding his hand out for her to take. Her fingers slide over his palm, and he snatches them up. She allows him to lead her onto the dance floor, where people are already spinning around the fast beats of Sviridov's Snowstorm waltz. It takes her all of three seconds to find the beat within herself and join the dance.

Felix is a surprisingly good dancer. Surprising, because anything to do with the pre-Games era is generally looked down upon by the Capitol elites. But art and music has always been the one eternal thing that everyone can accept, regardless of the time period or era it was created in.

"I'm sure you've been busy preparing for the Quell," Sil murmurs as they come together after a spin. Her hand lays flat against his, and she tries not to cringe.

Felix purses his lips. "I'm sure it's none of your business what I'm busy with."

Huh. Well if he wants to play it like that…

"Dear me. It seems that even polite conversation is difficult for you to engage in," Silver dares to say, with an added 'humph' of extra derisiveness.

Felix sends her a barely disguised snarl and pulls her against him tightly. His hands are claws that coil into the back of her gown, which proves to be a paltry protection. Together, they jump into the dance, but it seems more like a struggle to Silver. No matter how hard she tries to put more distance between them, Felix only grips her harder.

"Don't be mistaken, Silver," he growls in her ear. "I'm not some Capitol idiot here to entertain you. In fact, I believe it's the other way around, don't you agree?" His fingers sink lower than is appropriate, and her face blankets all emotion.

Simple convincing will not go down well tonight. Felix is in one of his moods. There is only one way to go about this: make him angry enough to want to send her back into the Games, and to her death. Make him so furious that he will have no other thoughts.

Her own fingers tighten around his hand, nails biting his skin just as his do to her. "I am not your toy, Felix. I'm a  _Victor_. Go ahead and try to use me. I'll break your neck."

One might expect the person on the receiving end of such a threat to balk, or at least look a little bit chagrined. But Felix only pauses briefly before laughing. Sil straightens her back and frowns at him, but she doesn't try to stop him. It doesn't matter what his reaction is. All that matters is that she's threatening him. And even though he's laughing at the threat, at  _her_ , a spade is still a spade. Felix does not like any sign of insubordination.

"You'll break my neck?" he hisses, laughter dying down to anger. Dry amusement still colors it though, like one of her many masks worn to hide herself away from prying eyes. The hint of fury is discernible, but only just – like the eyes peering from beneath a masquerade colombina.

Before he can say anything more, Sil mutters, "Gracious, Felix.  _I_  won't break your neck. What an absolutely morbid thing to think! There are plenty of other Victors around here who would be only too happy to get rid of someone like you. I doubt I'd even have to pay them. We're a rather close-knit group you know."

His grip tightens, and she numbs herself to the bite of pain that accompanies his touch. Any amusement leftover from her threat has disappeared, boiling down into anger too pure to ignore.

"Is that so?" he wonders with clenched teeth. "Well it looks like I'll have to do something about this  _close-knit_  group of yours."

She sends him a leering smile that looks positively strange on her normally too-happy face, and he takes pleasure in sending her spinning into the waltz with more force than necessary. Her heels teeter precariously as she stumbles back, having lost her grip on his hand when he'd sent her reeling. She bumps into a pair of dancers and is about to fall flat on her face (and on her dignity) when two arms expertly catch her.

"Careful there, sugar," comes Finnick's calm voice. She thinks she's never been so happy to see him as she is right now. The relief is palpable.

With her face pressed into his shoulder and neck, the scent of him is overpowering and beautiful. She is vividly reminded of the ocean whenever she is this close to him because there is a faint marine scent that seems eternally trapped against his skin, as if he's just been swimming.

She swallows back her anger, soothes her nerves, and lifts her head. Mere inches separate them, but Finnick isn't looking at her. He's staring at Felix with hard eyes as the dancers twirl around them, barely noticing the drama unfolding in their midst. Sil grasps at the sleeves of his suit jacket and straightens herself, pulling away to a more respectable distance just as Finnick turns his attention to her.

He carefully observes her with eyes that are softer than what she expects, and then quietly asks, "Are you okay?" His fingers move in comforting circles over her back. She's not sure why he's treating her like glass, but for some reason, Silver doesn't mind it at all.

She chuckles. "Of course I am, Finnick. It was only a dance." A very bad dance, but a dance nonetheless. And besides, despite the dull pain of Felix's grip and the ever present fear of being around Snow's right hand man, Sil feels a sense of victory.

She considers the night to be a success, and it isn't even over yet. The list of names she's compiled is long enough to be of use, and Felix's anger will no doubt be turned toward ensuring that there will be no Victors around to threaten him again. If nothing else, Felix is annoyed enough to do the one thing that will put all the Victors in their places. What better way than to show them that they are not invincible for winning their Games? Sending them back into the arena is the perfect punishment.

Finnick scoffs and mutters, "That was not a dance. Here, I'll show you how it's really done. Put your arms around me."

She stares at him. In the back of her mind, she thinks that this is the second time Finnick has requested something like this.  _"Hold onto me,"_  he'd told her back in District 4. And now he wants to dance with her right here in the Capitol, in front of everyone, and for some reason the concern in his eyes doesn't look fake beneath all these glittering, dramatic lights.

She puts her arms around him just as the waltz ends, and when the first notes of Liszt's Liebestraum fills the air, the weightless feeling of dancing practically takes her breath away. If Felix is a good dancer, then Finnick is ten times better, simply because she feels safe in his arms. More than safe, even, if the hard beating of her heart has anything to say on the matter. It's a little nerve-wracking at first, to be honest. But as Finnick gathers her up and leads her into the dance, her eyes flutter closed and she starts to lose herself.

Dancing to such delicate music is not like dancing at the raves she sometimes goes to. There are no strobe lights that hide your partner away. No drums that pound in your ear or electronic pulses that seem to lift you off your feet. This is a completely different experience in its entirety. It is like opening up your heart and not having to be afraid of what the other person might see there. It is a collaboration of thought and sound and yearning. Those are the things that Sil finds herself feeling as she glides around the floor with Finnick's arms around her. And with the anticipation of every note comes the burning need to hear and feel and see more, always.

"I saw you talking to Annie before. Is Mags here too?" Sil wonders quietly. Finnick closes his eyes and leans into her. She can't see his face, but imagines his expression to be as peaceful as hers. At least she hopes that he's not dancing with her just to add fuel to their supposed relationship. It feels strangely real tonight. Standing here in his arms, she could almost believe that everything between them is genuine and beautiful.

"Mmm…" he sighs, sounding completely relaxed. "She only just arrived a while ago. You were talking to that Capitol woman. The one with the feathers sticking out of her arms?" The chuckle he gives her makes her laugh too, just thinking about the ridiculous feathers. She surrenders to the warmth of his voice against her ear.

"I believe that was a part of her gown, Finnick," she murmurs with another soft laugh. As expected, Finnick scoffs.

"You've been very busy tonight. I don't think I've ever seen you talk to so many Victors," he muses. His breath fans over her cheek as he moves to look at her. The hazel flecks in his eyes seem more pronounced when she's so close to him. He glances down at her mouth and then looks back at her with a tiny, crooked smile that tells her he is being intimate on purpose. She's not sure if it's for the crowd or for himself, if perhaps he's only trying to get a reaction out of her. She gives him one, but it isn't the kind he expects.

With a smirk of her own, Sil leans in even closer and whispers, "I've realized that I haven't made much of an effort to get to know the other Victors. Lately I've come to the conclusion that it's a shame." Her fingers flit over his back, pressing into his shoulder blades delicately as if she means to start massaging all his worries away. He smirks a little wider and pushes his forehead against hers.

"Oh really?" he asks, "I wonder why you've suddenly had such a profound revelation. It wouldn't be because of little old me, would it?"

Her eyes twinkle. "Gracious, Finnick. What a thing to think. You've got nothing to do with it." But he does. He does.

It's a game, she has to remind herself. It isn't real. Finnick doesn't love her. Finnick doesn't want her. He's dancing with her because it's expected of him. He's looking at her like that because they're supposed to be dating. It's a game that he plays only too well – so well that sometimes, Sil forgets.

It can be scary, forgetting. Sometimes she finds herself stuck between the knowing and the not knowing, caught up in a storm of yearning, of longing to be someone important to him. But at the end of the day, all she can do is remember that this is nothing more than a dream. A fairytale comprised entirely of Snow's wishes and not theirs. Because it would not exist at all if it was made from their own desires.

He chuckles, tilts his head, and tells her, "Shame. And here I thought you were falling for me."

Falling for him? Sil freezes, staring up at him with quizzical eyes. Their dancing stops too, and Finnick raises an eyebrow as he peers down at her. He catches her eye and steps closer, raising his hand to brush away a strand of her hair that has fallen from the intricate weaving style Sil had put it into. As he does, his thumb brushes the edge of her cheekbone and little shivers burst through her. She stares at him, watching with incredulous, panicked silence as Finnick starts to lean down. He's going to kiss her.

Having Finnick kiss her isn't something she'd normally shy away from because the man really knows how to use that mouth of his. But for some reason, tonight all Sil can think about is the fact that this is all fake. Perhaps it's because she suddenly wants it to be real, wants to see the sincere side of his emotions, that the other parts seem more pronounced.

She stares at him as he comes closer. Her mind is buzzing rapidly, over thinking. Is he doing this because they're in a crowd of Capitolites and he thinks they need the publicity? It's impossible to tell if he has any other motive. She's not the only one capable of concealing herself.

She is saved by the one person completely incapable of saving someone. The moment Finnick's mouth brushes hers, President Snow's voice fills the stateroom and the music drifts to an abrupt end. Finnick stops too. Something crosses his face – a flash of emotion gone too fast for Sil to interpret. He sends her a dry smile and pulls back to a safer distance, gaze lingering on hers before finally he looks up to where the President of Panem is addressing the party.

Sil pulls in a shaky breath and tries to ignore the man at her side, but it's impossible to ignore Finnick Odair. He oozes sex appeal. There is something extremely magnetic about him that makes paying attention to anyone else very difficult. She is hyperaware of him – of the way his sleeve is brushing against her bare arm, the way the light slants over his features and makes his eyes shine. Her heart pounds in her chest, stricken with an impassable breathlessness that is colored by sudden grief.

She can never have him.

For some reason, the thought makes her want to cry.

"People of Panem, honored guests, friends," Snow begins, and it seems to Sil that he drags the word 'friends' between his teeth as if it tastes sour. "Tonight we celebrate the upcoming Quarter Quell. The Hunger Games began as a punishment but it has transcended into a something far greater. The act of sending tributes to take part in the Games is one that will continue to honor the districts."

It's hardly noticeable, but Finnick tenses beside her. Sil sends him a discreet glance and hesitantly slides her hand into the crook of his arm. He gives her a surprised look, clearly not expecting her to comfort him in any way, but Sil can't bring herself to meet his eyes. She swallows back the memories of every kiss he's ever given her and the one she only just narrowly escaped…yet she can't seem to think about anything else. Holding onto him only makes it worse.

Snow prattles on about the Games for a few more minutes, in which Sil only half listens. She waits for the President to finish, yearning for the comfort of her apartment. For a moment, she entertains the idea of spending the rest of the evening watches movies in her most comfortable pair of pajamas. Maybe open a bottle of wine. Try to forget the burn of wishes that she can never allow to be fulfilled.

But she doesn't get that far, because a few minutes into the speech, President Snow suddenly smiles and says, "And now I'd like to take a moment to congratulate two of our Victors who are with us here tonight. I've heard that they're even planning on making it official. Watching them fall in love has been as exciting as watching them in their Games."

Sil almost scoffs. He's comparing loving someone to fighting for your life in the Hunger Games? Really? Poor Katniss and Peeta, having to face this on a night like tonight. Lord knows they've got enough to deal with –

"To Finnick and Silver. Congratulations on your upcoming engagement. May you fall in love with each other every day," Snow finishes with a flourish, raising a glass of champagne into the air and piercing Sil with a gaze that looks more reptilian than human.

She stares back in shock. She had heard that right, hadn't she? Did Snow just say that she's about to be engaged to Finnick? Slowly, she turns her head to look up at the man at her side, who looks as shocked as she does. The room explodes with cheers (at least half of them are grumbled from reluctant women). People raise their glasses for a toast and start clapping Finnick on the shoulder and gushing at Silver. Meanwhile the two of them stand there in the sea of adoring Capitolites looking completely lost.

At least Finnick has his head on his shoulders. After a brief moment spent grappling with this very unexpected proclamation, his expression melts into boyish charm and his arm is suddenly around Sil's shoulders. He squeezes her against him, one hand in his pocket and the other gripping Sil's bare shoulder harder than he probably means to. For once, his mask is better than hers, because Sil just stands there with wide eyes. Her muddled brain can't quite grasp the situation.

"But – you're not wearing a ring," someone murmurs nearby, quickly followed by a hushed, "I'm sure Gemma Cornelius is making one for them."  _"When did this happen?" "I had no idea that they were this close – and they only just got together a short while ago – !"_

Finnick laughs and presses a swift kiss to Sil's temple. Against her skin, he mutters,  _"Smile,_  Silver." He squeezes her tighter, as if he's trying to wake her up from her stupor.

With a jolt, Sil bursts into a stupid laugh and exclaims, "Gracious! The secret's out!" Her smile could easily be mistaken for a sneer, but the Capitolites barely notice. They're too busy gushing to each other, and whispering complaints that Finnick is no longer on the market.

Finnick clears his throat. "Come on," he mumbles, pulling her off with him. The crowd is absolutely claustrophobic, and the moment they break free of it, they both let out a long sigh of relief. Finnick pulls her in the direction of the Victors, who are eyeing them with strong distaste and stronger pity. Sil takes one look at those expressions and pulls away with a start, making Finnick turn around in confusion.

She swallows thickly. "I…ah…I think I need a drink. A really strong one." She mumbles something about taking a few shots and leaves Finnick to find the bar. He doesn't follow.

Two shots in, and Sil can think clearly. For now. The alcohol wipes away all traces of her confusion, but she knows it'll be back soon enough, along with a hangover. She clenches her fists in her lap and tries to remember to smile. Silver Lamprey Cornelius is too 'stupid' to be bogged down by something like emotions. But it's so hard.

After a few minutes, a hand lays itself over her forearm, and Silver looks up to see Mags smiling softly down at her. The old woman brushes Sil's hair out of her face and takes a seat at the bar stool. Annie is not with her, and neither is Finnick. She is very glad about this.

A loud sigh leaves her throat. "Hello, Mags," she greets, forcing her face to contort into a grin. She doubts it fools anyone, because Mags just smiles gently back and peers into Sil's shot glass. She gestures to Sil, who blinks at her in confusion, and then says, "Oh! Yes, of course. Please." Sil pushes her glass toward the old woman and watches with thinly veiled interest as Mags sips at the liquor.

"It's not as good as that spiced rum," Sil concedes with a bitter smile. Mags shrugs good naturedly.

They sit like that for a while. Sil contemplates talking to Mags about the fake relationship. All the Victors already know about it, probably because it is so out of character for Finnick to pay her any attention. But she doesn't want her words to come back to her later on. Mags may not be able to speak as she once did, but she has a way to communicate that only Annie and Finnick are fluent in. So she stays quiet, because the thought of Finnick knowing about her feelings makes her blanch.

It is only when Sil pours herself her forth shot that Mags reaches out to catch her wrist. She looks up into those wise eyes and feels like a child in comparison. A child playing with fire. The analogy is not very far from the truth.

Mags presses her wrinkled hand against her chest, where her heart beats beneath her skin. Then she silently moves Sil's hand to her own chest, as if they are exchanging heartbeats. She glances into the crowd and Sil follows the gaze in confusion. She's got no idea what the old woman is trying to tell her, but she is observant enough to know that Mags is looking at the other Victors. Her eyes zero in on Finnick, who has taken a seat beside Johanna. Their backs are to them, and Finnick looks like he's drinking. Funny how their reactions are so similar.

Sil looks back at Mags and raises an eyebrow. "I don't understand." The words are blunt and to the point. She's too tired to grapple with hidden meanings.

Mags tilts her head and smiles. She presses a finger against Sil's chest and traces the shape of a heart against her skin, just as she'd done in District 4. This time, the gesture hits Sil as solidly as her apparent engagement.

A trilling laugh spills from her lips, nervous and incredulous. "Are you saying…that I  _love_  him?" And, just because the thought makes her uncomfortable, Sil rambles, "Because gracious, Mags, that's a ridiculous thought. I hardly even know the man, and besides, this really isn't an ideal time to be in love with someone. Just look at Katniss and – "

Another heart is traced onto Sil's chest, silencing her. She watches with baited breath as Mags traces another heart on her own, more modestly covered chest, and then looks pointedly at Finnick. Sil furrows her brow.

"…Finnick loves…me…?" she guesses, merely throwing words out at this point. Finnick can't love her. He barely pays any genuine attention to her. Everything he does is only to make people think they are together. But Mags grins and tilts her head to the side. Her eyes glimmer with mirth and happiness. This time, Silver laughs.

"Dear me, no, I don't think so. Finnick would never love a woman like me," she says, shaking her head. The mere thought is laughable, and slightly depressing. She thinks she might know why now.

Somewhere between the thinly veiled insults and the indulgent smiles, Sil has fallen for Finnick Odair.

She smiles that bitter smile again and pours another shot, knocking it back with a vengeance. She is not supposed to  _like_  Finnick Odair. She isn't supposed to let any of her emotions cloud her judgment. Her job is too precarious as it is. She doesn't have time to fawn over someone else, especially when one wrong move could decimate the entire rebellion. But the alcohol burns every thought away and replaces them with his face, the playful gleam of his marine eyes, the beautiful bronze glow of skin, the mischievous smirk. The image of him comes easily; she is already in too deep.

Mags doesn't try to argue. She looks at Sil as if the younger woman is truly blind, but there is no judgment in her eyes. In fact, she looks as patient as ever, as if she trusts that things will work out in the end. Sil wishes she had that trust, but there are just too many variables in the way of a perfect ending.

She's about to partake in another shot when suddenly the familiar voice of Finnick drawls, "I think it's time I brought you home, sugar. Wouldn't want my fiancée tripping and hurting herself before the big day." His slightly calloused fingers slide over her wrist. From the outside, it looks like he's romantically holding her hand on top of the counter. In actuality, he's forcefully holding her down to prevent her from reaching for the liquor. She huffs a little and glances at Finnick. Her fiancé. The word makes her cringe.

"Mags, I'll be back to pick you and Annie up," Finnick says dutifully, leaning down to kiss the old woman on the cheek. Mags pats Finnick on the face with a smile and gives Sil that look – the one full of glimmering knowledge, the one that dares her to come and discover it for herself.

A moment later, Finnick turns to Sil and reaches out a hand for her. "Come on," he says, sounding overly patient as if he's speaking to a child. The tone makes her narrow her eyes. Well if that's the way he's going to treat her, that's the way she's going to act. Fiancé? What a joke! She doubts she'll be alive long enough to marry him anyway.

She ignores the outstretched hand and gets off of the bar stool herself, much to the annoyance of her future husband, who apparently has a short lease on his anger when it comes to her. He grits his teeth as she straightens her gown, teetering dangerously in her ridiculously high heels. He's not sure how many shots she's had, but he's guessing at least five. Luckily the alcohol she's chosen to inhale won't make her drop only a few shots in.

Actually, Sil holds herself remarkably well for someone who's just tried to drown herself in liquor. Perhaps he is wrong about his count, because as she hooks her arm around his, it isn't because she needs his support to walk from the bar to the door. She doesn't look drunk at all. He remembers vaguely that she'd said she'd only gotten wasted once, and hadn't believed her at all. But if she's this good at holding her liquor, he's got to wonder.

"I can get home by myself," Sil tells him quietly as he opens the door to a taxicab waiting on the curb. Stray Capitolites press against them, gushing as usual at the sight of their beloved Victors. Sil dryly assumes that most of the attention belongs to Finnick.

He slides into the leather seat as quickly as he can and closes the car door even faster, eager to block out the convergence of people. He quickly tells the cab driver the address to Sil's apartment complex and turns to her with a charming and obviously pasted on smile, "Don't be ridiculous, darling. I won't have you go home alone, in the dark."

A short pause, and then Finnick is smirking and shuffling closer, dragging an arm around her shoulders as he whispers 'seductively' into her ear, "…I think this taxi driver is a paparazzi. There's a camera sticking out of that bag."

Sil's eyes drift over that said bag. Sure enough, the lens of a camera sticks out of it. It's pointed towards them, which probably means that it's set to record. She sighs and her head falls back.

"Lovely," she mutters, fingers fluttering over her lap. There's not a moment of privacy, is there? News of this engagement must be juicier than expected. Thankfully she won't have to be in the center of this storm for much longer – all the Victors are returning to their districts soon enough. The reprieve will be short, but at least she'll be home again. It may be her last visit.

Finnick's proximity to her is certainly making her extremely tense, for lack of a better word. His leg is pressed against hers, his arm around her shoulders, his head very close. She can feel his breath on her neck. His fingers play with a loose strand of her hair, which drops down against her collarbone. The darkness in the taxi does little to make her feel better, especially since she knows he's only this close to her because of that camera, which no doubt has the capabilities to see through the darkness that converges upon them.

"Finnick – " she whispers, turning her head to face him better. This close to him, she can clearly see his expression. Fabricated interest. Even in the dark, Finnick Odair is good at pretending.

"I'm going to kiss you now," he cuts in before she can say anything else. His breath now drifts over her mouth, which is barely an inch away from his. Probably a good idea, considering. As much as Sil would prefer to keep the intimate touches to a minimum, it's slightly difficult to do when they're being spied on. Might as well give the Capitol what they want, and prove to Snow that they can do this. It is not an excuse, she tells herself. She doesn't really want to kiss him.

He blinks at her once, studying her face with a careful expression before lowering his head. It seems that, in those seconds before his lips touch hers, Finnick is no-nonsense and to the point. The funny thing is that once he kisses her, all Sil notices is the way he's so gentle with her.

She's fallen prey to this before, the soft sway of his kisses. They serenade her almost immediately – the first brush of his mouth and her heartbeat flutters like a dandelion bent in the wind. Tonight it feels different though, perhaps because she can't help but remember Mags and her silent messages.

She kisses him back softly, opening her mouth beneath his without even realizing it. He doesn't seem to realize when his tongue presses against her bottom lip, either. They are both lost within each other.

Seconds pass them in a blur. Finnick's mouth moves faster, deeper, as if he's inhaling her. Sil reciprocates, her hand fluttering up to the side of his face. She caresses his cheek with her thumb and grasps onto his shirt with her other hand. The expensive fabric feels luxurious beneath her skin, but it doesn't even compare to the beauty of his touch as he takes her breath away.

She's kissing Finnick and she likes it. The thought tumbles through her head, snowballing over and over into an unrelenting force that makes her gasp and break herself away. The moment their lips separate, Finnick lets out a slow breath and pulls away, looking like he's been backhanded.

Sil can't look at him. She stares at the dark window, at the blur of lights that pass them by out on the streets. She knows Finnick is staring at her – she can feel his eyes like spikes against her skin – but she refuses to turn and catch his eye. Until of course his finger pushes her chin in his direction.

"Silver," he whispers, too softly for the driver to hear. "…Look, I'm sorry about the kiss, but you know I had to do it." Her heart hurts. He sighs, "We're almost to your apartment. I'll walk you up."

She sniffs haughtily and murmurs, "I can walk up myself, Finnick. I'm not a child."

He pauses, blinks at her, and then smiles a fake smile. In a louder voice, Finnick says, "I'd  _love_  a glass of your vintage wine, thanks sugar. I can only stay for a little while, though." He kisses her cheek noisily and she scowls.

" _Finnick,"_  she hisses in annoyance, but it's already too late. The taxi is pulling up to the curb, and Sil's apartment building looms above them. Her apartment is on the 20th floor, almost at the top. The elevator ride will be a long one.

Finnick pays the driver and helps Sil out of the car. She reluctantly allows him, but only because the camera is recording their every move. Talk about creepy. She's just glad the driver is in fact a paparazzi and not some psycho killer.

She's right about one thing though: the elevator ride is a very long one. She can't stop thinking about kissing Finnick, and Finnick can't stop thinking about why he enjoyed kissing her so much. Their thoughts merge, blending unknowingly together. As the electric buttons on the elevator slowly climb towards 20, the tension rises between them. Sil knows only one thing, and that is that she's not letting Finnick into her apartment. She has things to do tonight, and none of them have to do with him loitering around her space.

Luckily he doesn't seem all that interested in joining her anyway. His speech in the car had been just talk. He walks her to her door and waits while she unlocks it. As she pushes the door open and flips on the light, she glances back at Finnick to say goodnight…only to find that he's stepped closer than she'd anticipated.

"…Finnick?" she asks in confusion, frowning a little.

He smiles blandly, looks at the ground, and slowly murmurs, "Did you know that Snow was going to announce that?"

She pauses, floundering as he raises his eyes to pierce hers. "No." The answer is honest. Had she known about that particular surprise, Sil would have prepared herself better. She certainly wouldn't have just stood there in the middle of the dance floor looking like she was trying to catch flies.

He rubs the back of his neck and smiles bitterly. "I'll be returning to 4 in the morning. I guess I'll see you after the Quell is announced. I'll…uh…find a ring for you while I'm there."

Once again, Sil flounders. She smiles awkwardly back and tips her head to the side. "Yes, of course. I'll see you soon. Goodnight, Finnick."

"Goodnight, Silver," he responds, but doesn't move away. She raises an eyebrow at him.

And then he's kissing her again.

If she had floundered before, she is positively lifeless now. She's so shocked that she can only stand there and stare at him with wide eyes. Both of his hands are cupping her cheeks, holding her in place as his mouth caresses hers gently. It's a very soft kiss, not like the breathless one exchanged in the car only minutes before. This is so much gentler, so honest and simple and chaste. It doesn't only make Sil breathless, but speechless as well.

She lets him kiss her, too surprised to make much of an effort on her own. Her lips move, but just barely, and she mainly just stands there in the doorway of her apartment wondering what is going on. It must be fairly obvious that Sil is only half there, because after a lingering, drawn out moment, Finnick slowly breaks the kiss and sighs softly. The heat of his breath flutters over her wet mouth.

"…Did the paparazzi follow us up?" Sil breathes, catching his gaze with her own. This close, in this lighting, his eyes look darker somehow. Almost black. The usual bluish green has become more subdued.

He stares at her in silence, as if he can't believe she had just said that.

"What?" he asks, pulling away. The space suddenly stretches like miles between them, and all he can think of is how Sil can actually be  _this_  stupid. Is she blind? Does she think there are  _always_  underlying reasons when a man kisses her? For a woman who is infamous for taking everything at face value, Sil can certainly making things unnecessarily complicated.

She raises an eyebrow and looks around. "Finnick, I'm afraid I don't – "

"It was just a test," he cuts in smoothly, taking a step back. Her confusion feels a little suffocating for some reason. He doesn't just kiss anyone, after all. But apparently the message goes right over her head. He really should've known. Maybe next time he should write her a letter and spell it out for her in big, bold writing.

Just what is he trying to spell out, though? That he feels something more for her than he'd thought? That is true enough, but he's not entirely sure what it is that he actually feels. He only knows that his heart gets frazzled around her, like it's trying to beat right out of his chest.

"…Test?" Sil asks, blinking stupidly. It's funny, actually. This time, she doesn't even have to pretend. She honestly cannot fathom why Finnick would test her with a kiss like  _that_.

His mouth quirks upward, but there still this odd lingering expression on his face that she can't figure out. It's almost bitter, almost sad, almost hopeful. He raises an eyebrow and explains with a flirty wink, "Just wanted to make sure you'd make a decent wife, sugar. I'll have to teach you a few things."

She gapes at him, and the magic and confusion are gone. " _Teach_  me?" She scowls at him and leans against the threshold of her door. For some reason, she doesn't want him to leave yet. There is something like anticipation that rushes through her. His company is like a long day of sunshine after a week of rain.

She huffs and says a little teasingly, "Well. I could show you a thing or two, myself."

His eyebrows shoot up and he grins that boyish grin she loves so much. "How about we compare notes?" He steps closer as if he intends on kissing her again, and Sil immediately throws her hands in front of her and pushes him back with an expression that looks panicked and doe-eyed. 'Deer caught in the headlights' is a fairly good analogy. Finnick, of course, bursts into laughter. He thinks  _everything_  is funny. It's a little annoying.

She rolls her eyes and says petulantly, "Goodnight, Finnick. Gracious."

He only laughs harder, but waves his hand at her and nods. When he gets a handle on his words a moment later, he chuckles, "Night sugar. Sweet dreams."

She's not sure what makes her blurt, "…You too." What she does know is that the way Finnick's eyes glimmer down at her when she does makes it well worth it.

He gives her that charming, boyish smile and murmurs, "If you're in my dreams tonight, they'll be sweet as ever."

Her heart burns at the same time as her eyes roll. He's so cliché! With a snort, Sil mutters, "You're insufferable."

"Mmm…I try," he murmurs, staring at her with that expression. He lingers a moment more and then turns, giving her a smile over his shoulder before sauntering down the hall. She watches him for a moment longer than necessary and then slips into her apartment, closing the door and leaning against it.

She touches her lips. Then sighs. The thought of his kiss frightens her as much as it invigorates her, and she stares unseeingly into her apartment. Unbeknownst to her, the expression on her face perfectly matches the one Finnick had been wearing moments before. Bitter, sad, and hopeful. Especially hopeful.

It isn't even the impromptu kiss that takes her so off guard. It was the way he lingered by her door, as if he hadn't wanted to leave. It was the way she lingered too, like she wanted to drag the moment out for as long as possible. It is everything, curdling together and reminding her of all the ways Finnick has surprised her and charmed her over the last few months. Can a person fall in love in a matter of weeks? She doesn't know, but she does know that her heart is beating louder and her thoughts are full of him.

And that is the problem, because she is Silver Lamprey Cornelius, the Sterling Nightingale, and she has a job to do that will shake the whole of Panem before she is done. Falling in love with Finnick Odair is an impossibility that she can only dream of. But dream she does, and when she goes to sleep later that evening, her dreams are sweet because he is in them, grinning boyishly from just beyond her reach.


	17. And swept behind a curtain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Sil returns to District 1, Finnick is a constant thought that she cannot be rid of, and the Quarter Quell is upon her doorstep.
> 
> Once again, thanks to everyone who has left a review/kudos on this story. It's so satisfying as a writer to receive feedback, so it's all very much appreciated!
> 
> As an added note for this chapter, I made up a surname for Gloss and Cashmere for the purpose of the Reaping, just if anyone is wondering.

 

 

**Chapter Seventeen | And swept behind a curtain**

" _And now the curtain came down after the glorious finale to the second act, and the audience, which had hung spell-bound on the magic strains of the great maestro, seemed collectively to breathe a long sigh of satisfaction, previous to letting loose its hundreds of waggish and frivolous tongues." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

Sil is afforded a week of solitude before the Quarter Quell announcement. She returns to District 1 the morning after the Pre-Games Gala and immediately relaxes into a routine that is both familiar and pleasant. Gemma, as well as the entirety of Panem, has heard about her upcoming engagement to Finnick, and while no official proposal has been made yet, the two of them are the talk of the town. Everyone is wondering what, exactly, the phrase 'upcoming engagement' means, and if they're already technically together or not. The two bright and shining Victors, engaged to be married? It is a piece of news that no one could possibly miss.

When she arrives home, Gemma is prepared. He immediately drags her to his workroom, where he has apparently spent days working on rings. This comes as a complete surprise to Sil, for two reasons. One, her father rarely creates jewelry anymore. His hands don't have the same finesse that they used to. The only things he makes these days are hammered pieces, which are easier and less tedious to work.

The second reason she is surprised is simply because her father is extremely perceptive. He knows that her and Finnick aren't exactly perfect for each other. He might not know the exact reason as to why they are together, but he understands that it is no easy road, and that this engagement is far too random for it to be genuine. So when he showers her with half a dozen rings for her to pick from, Sil is naturally speechless.

"A ring is important, no matter the reason as to why this is all happening," he tells her, watching as she studies a few gold and topaz pieces. He knows that she loves topaz. He also knows that this engagement is quite possibly a farce.

A bride should be happier. A bride should be eagerly picking out which ring she wants to symbolize her love for her future husband. But Sil just stares at the jewelry with a blank face, void of excitement. Gemma's suspicions are proven correct in a matter of minutes – as long as it takes for her to pick one, in fact.

If jewelry is an expression of your innermost feelings, then rings are windows straight into your heart. The language of jewelry is something that Gemma Cornelius is fluent in. So when Sil lingers on a simple silver band decorated with only one small pearl, Gemma knows that whatever his daughter feels for Finnick Odair is far more genuine than he had thought. The only remaining question is what the famous District 4 Victor feels for her.

"Ah…the pearl," Gemma murmurs, plucking it from the velvet case and tilting it in the light. The band is a very simple, delicately hammered silver. It is extremely thin – thick enough to hold the pearl without a problem, but only just. The real beauty of it comes from the tiny little silver embellishments that curl around the pearl like a small cage, fluctuating like seaweed on a gentle, sunny day.

"I was going to use a lavender pearl," he tells her, taking his daughter's hand in his rougher one and splaying her fingers. As he slides it onto her ring finger, he smiles, "But I thought the white would be purer, more lasting. It reminds you of the ocean, does it not?"

Sil is quiet. She stares down at the ring. The pearl is lovely. She wonders how her father managed to find one so small. It definitely doesn't look like your typical engagement ring, dazzled with diamonds that reflect all light. The setting is much more subdued. It is beautiful.

She looks up at her father with a forced smile. "Finnick mentioned that he'd find me a ring in District 4."

Gemma smiles lightly and busies himself with putting away the other rings. "I wouldn't worry about that. Most women have two rings anyway." One for the engagement, and one for the wedding. The thought makes her breathless, though not in a good way. She can't marry Finnick. He doesn't know anything about her. She can only imagine his hatred when he finds out who she really is, and that she's been lying to him from the very beginning. Her worry is so obvious that her father immediately notices.

He takes her hands in his and softly says, "It is a father's greatest wish to see his daughter marry the man she loves. A man who will protect her from anything and everything. I don't know Finnick as well as you do, but I know that he's more honorable than he outwardly expresses. That's all I can ask for."

Tears pool in her eyes. In a shaky voice, Sil asks, "Aren't you curious that we're engaged after only a few months?"

Gemma stares at her. After a moment, he sighs and cups her face with careful hands, thumbing away the moisture beneath her eyes.

"Silver," he says gently, "it's clear as day that you love him. Any man would be lucky to win your heart. Whatever you're worried about, stop it right now. Finnick would be a fool not to love you."

Sil gives her father a watery smile and nods. But inside, she wonders if perhaps  _she_  is the foolish one.

* * *

 

The Quarter Quell is announced only a few days later. Sil spends the morning in her bedroom and pampers herself. It's funny, really. Her alter ego would turn to such methods to relax, and yet the real her does too. It is perhaps the one thing both sides of her have in common. By the time the afternoon announcement is broadcast, she has set herself up on the couch, fuzzy slippers and all.

Her father joins her in the TV room, and together they settle down and turn the TV to the right station. It hasn't started yet. Caesar Flickerman is chattering on about the up-coming announcement and speculating what sort of theme the Quarter Quell will follow this year. It's been twenty five years since the last one, so naturally everyone is in a bit of an uproar. The Capitol makes a hype about normal Games, but a Quarter Quell is ten times more exciting.

Gemma is drumming his fingers against the arm of his chair as the speculation continues. Sil just sits there solidly, staring at the screen but not seeing anything. She already knows what the announcement will be. She knows what to expect and has prepared herself to hear it, but even though she's spent the last week and a half getting ready for this very moment, it still manages to push her over the edge.

Snow appears at exactly two o'clock. He's standing at his podium in front of a Capitol crowd – the citizens who like to make an even greater deal out of a completely disgusting topic. Later, they will go and gush to their friends about how they'd been right there in the crowd, listening to their dear President in person. Bragging about something like that just goes with the territory of being a wealthy Capitolite.

Sil shifts on the couch as Snow starts speaking. He rambles on about past Quarter Quells and the history of the rebellion, which started the tradition of the Hunger Games. As he talks, Sil fixes her eyes onto the white rose that the President always wears on his lapel. It's such a stark, lovely thing on a man as evil as the devil.

She stills when she hears the words, "On this day, the start of the 75th Hunger Games and the 3rd Quarter Quell in Panem's history, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of Victors."

Reactions come slowly, as if Sil is in a trance and cannot keep up with the rest of the world. Her head spins irrationally. She should already be prepared for this – she's had a head start, after all. But hearing it, knowing that this is her fate, that she might have to return to the arena…that is not such an easy concept to grasp. The crowd on the TV reacts first, with loud cheers and excited shouts. Her father reacts second. He turns to her with wide eyes, fearful and unbelieving, and just stares at her. His mouth opens once, twice, but no words leave him. He seems to be caught between the ferocity of his emotions. Sil is, too.

She smiles ruefully and sighs. "Well. It looks like I'm going back into the arena." The words are slow and cold, and Gemma jumps up and starts to pace.

"Don't say that!" he tells her immediately, jaw squared and shoulders stiff. He puts his hands behind his back and glowers at the TV.

"Turn that damned thing off, Silver," he bites, and purses his mouth. Sil silently obeys. When the screen flickers off, the room is bathed in a silence that screams of uncomfortable fear.

She remembers the last time her father had been like this. When she'd been reaped for her Games seven years ago, it had come as a surprise to them all. The Cornelius family had been notoriously  _good_ , practically worshipping the Capitol. Her father had spent a great deal of time around Capitolites, selling his wares and even sometimes integrating his life around theirs. Sometimes when she couldn't go with him on his trips, he'd bring her back some fanciful object from a Capitol shop – glass butterflies, a lace fan, squares of chocolate. But after her Reaping, any admiration Gemma Cornelius had felt toward the Capitol had dropped away, like a curtain closing off the last act of an opera. And now here they are again, faced with even more impossible circumstances that threaten the framework of their lives.

"It might not be me, father," Sil tries quietly, fidgeting with her hands as they rest in her lap. District 1 has quite a few Victors. There are four other female Victors besides her, and even more male Victors. Some of them are older, but the possibility of them being chosen is the same. She has a 1 in 5 chance of being picked. The odds appear to be in her favor.

And yet…she is Silver Lamprey Cornelius. It is no secret that Snow rigs the Reaping. He tosses anyone he doesn't like into the Games. What small rebellious actions her mother had participated in back then had prompted her to be chosen for her first Games. Any hint of rebellion makes you into a target.

Silver Lamprey Cornelius, the silly fop of the Capitol, can do no wrong. But from the viewers perspective, what better addition to their beloved Games than seeing their ridiculous socialite Victor battling for her life – and most likely, failing utterly? Logically, she's got a 20% chance of going back in, but when has the Capitol ever been logical? They're called the Hunger Games for a reason. Favorable odds or not, the game will be much more interesting if the 'stupidest' Victor plays a part in them.

Gemma seems to be on the same path, but he has more hope than her. His face clears just a little, and he sighs heavily. "Of course. There are more Victors in District 1 than any other district. You have a good chance."

But she can see his eyes, and Sil knows that he is thinking about her mother. Her rebel mother who she remembers very little of. It seems odd that she could have so few memories of a woman she knows so well.

"The Reaping is in a week," Gemma says carefully, rubbing a hand over his face. Despite Sil's attempt to make him feel better, he still has that worried crease between his brows that only seem to grow deeper with every passing moment.

She sends him a soft smile and says, "Then let's spend it doing the things we love to do."

Her father smiles sadly and nods.

* * *

 

Sil throws herself into her work after the announcement. She never leaves the manor without her PAAD, which has suddenly become a constant envoy of messages. Some are from Plutarch updating her on the list of possible allies in the Games; some from Dorsey, who carries messages from District 13 and some of the other rebels located within the districts. One is even from Coin herself, whose words are extremely vague and impossible to track, but effective nonetheless.

Sil responds to each of them with information, suggestions, and sometimes orders. Though she technically works for the rebellion and is under Coin's direction, her job makes it impossible to follow orders to the letter. Her primary operative is to not get caught, and therefore she must weave her own orders, for herself. And because she is one of the few agents with insider's information in the Capitol, it is only logical that she has the perks of being in control of several other agents who assist her.

In any case, Sil spends the next week busily planning last minute scenarios. She creates two plans – one for if she gets reaped, and another for if she plays the part of mentor in the Capitol. As the days go on, the plans get more and more complicated. Reparations are made for every action she can possibly think of.

She also spends the week with her father, taking several hours out of every day to be around the one person she loves unconditionally. They go out often, venturing into the heart of their district. Dinner at their favorite restaurant on 6th street, shopping at the venues in the lower markets, trying the foreign foods from other districts at a little shop called The Collision. They even go to see a musical that's playing at the local opera house. It's not as high quality as the ones offered in the Capitol, but if anyone can copy the luxurious costumes and posh accents, it's District 1.

Her father lavishes her with little things. Sil accepts each and every one of them, knowing that it is his particular way of expressing his love for her. By the time the week is over, she's got a little collection of silly things that make her smile, but will be of no help to her later.

The last night before the Reaping, her and her father are sitting together in the workroom hammering out jewelry. They've been at it for an hour or two by the time Hale appears, sticking his head into the room and saying, "Ms. Cornelius, there's a call for you."

Silver pauses and looks up, brow creasing. "From who?"

"Finnick Odair," Hale responds.

She jumps up and looks at her father, who smiles and waves her away. She all but runs to the foyer, where the main phone is located. When she picks it up, she's breathless and unsure as to why, exactly, she came running so quickly.

"…Finnick?" she breathes, holding the phone with both hands as she presses it to her ear. A low chuckle sounds on the other end, vibrating against her skin. It's Finnick alright – no one could laugh as sexily as that without even trying.

"You sound a little off, sugar," he says musingly, then adds, "Are you excited to hear from me?" Another chuckle, and all Sil can think about is the last time she'd seen him. The kiss he'd given her in front of her apartment door has been replaying over and over in her mind since it happened.

She bites her lip and swallows, deciding against answering him. She can't exactly say no, after all. "Let me think…oh right, the Reaping is tomorrow. No wonder I'm a little off," she says, trying to sound sarcastic.

A pause, and then, "Good point. I…uh, well I meant to call earlier, but – "

"You couldn't find my number?" Sil quips with a smile, letting him off the hook.

Finnick laughs. "You seem chipper for someone who might go back into the Games." There is a trace of solemnity to his words that Sil can't place. She twists her mouth to the side thoughtfully.

"Darling, what's the point in spending your last few days grieving over something that only might happen?" The question is rhetorical, but Finnick answers anyway.

"Maybe for you, but I'm the only male Victor in 4." Bitterness perforates his voice. She has a feeling it isn't directed at her, but at the Capitol itself. At least she hopes so.

She flounders for a moment, not knowing what she can say to make him feel better. Finnick knows without a doubt that he'll be returning to the arena. At least she's got a shred of hope that she won't be, small as it is.

He saves her from responding by saying, "I wanted to ask how you're doing. After the announcement…well. It's definitely a shock, isn't it? As your  _lover_ , I figured it's my duty to inquire into your wellbeing." The tiny joke makes her smile, though it's slightly less jovial than usual. She's glad Finnick can't see it.

Lover indeed. The thought of being that close to him is as frightening as it is beautiful. Perhaps it is a good thing that it probably won't ever happen.

She sniffs haughtily and says, "I'm doing as well as can be expected. Is that the only reason for your call?"

There's a pause on the other end. "…Of course," Finnick eventually says, though the hesitation in his voice proves otherwise.

She pauses too before murmuring, "You'll be fine, Finnick. You're the youngest Victor in history. Imagine your success, going into the Games as the man you are now."

Was that too presumptuous of her? He's silent again, but she can hear his breathing. It's calm, deep. She can almost imagine that he is getting ready to go to sleep, sitting up in bed as he talks to her. …Is  _that_  too presumptuous? Perhaps she shouldn't think of Finnick in bed. It does little good for her imagination.

After a beat of silence, he quips, "Thanks, sugar. I wish I could say the same for you, but I hardly remember how you did in your games. How'd you win, anyway?"

Her games had been only two years after his, and by then Finnick had been utterly entrenched in the Capitol lifestyle that Snow had forced him into. Depression came very quickly back then, along with frequent periods where he might as well have blacked out to the rest of the world. He paid very little attention to the things around him. Of course he had watched Sil's games – everyone had to – but he wasn't in the right state of mind to really care.

Sil pauses, then slowly says, "I had a lot of sponsors."

It's true, at least. She probably wouldn't have survived without the dozens of sponsors she'd had. It's not a secret that the Capitol adores her. As for her other, more strategic tactics, she doesn't make any mention of them. Finnick doesn't need to know that she actually has a brain. He'd probably be surprised to learn that she does, actually.

He hums. She can imagine that he's nodding. Maybe he's got that serious expression on his face – the determined one, with the set jaw. Maybe the bronze waves of his hair fall into his eyes when he nods, scattering against his forehead like a halo.

They end up talking about other things. Finnick tells her that the ocean looks lovely tonight, that he's watching it as he talks to her. He describes the sight – full moon, clear skies, stars everywhere – and asks what's she doing right now. She tells him that she'd been working with her father in the workroom, hammering out some new jewelry to pass the time. She decides to wait to tell him about the engagement ring her father had made for them. Some things are better said face to face.

He makes no mention of their engagement either, though he does joke around a bit about how it'll be crazy when they arrive at the Capitol. She laughs along with him even though she doesn't find it very amusing. She doubts he does either, but laughing does seem to help, and listening to his laugh is more than a little relaxing.

They talk for an hour. Time passes so quickly that Sil doesn't even realize it's been that long until her father steps into the foyer on his way upstairs. He seems as surprised to see her as she is to see him, and raises his eyebrows.

"You're still on the phone?" he asks. There's a hint of a smile tilting the edge of his mouth upward.

Sil opens her mouth to speak, then closes it because she's not really sure what to say. Finnick's voice interrupts her thoughts when he asks who she's talking to. She smiles bashfully at her father and says, "Hold on, Finnick. I'm just going to say goodnight to my father." He hums in agreement and she covers the mouthpiece with one hand.

"You've been talking to him for over an hour, dove," her father says quietly, smiling wider. A mischievous glint makes his eyes glow. "You'll see him tomorrow, remember?"

Sil bites her lip and nods quickly, "I hadn't realized it's been that long…"

Gemma chuckles, swooping down to kiss her head. "Don't stay up too late. You need your sleep."

She smiles up at him and assures him that she won't. As her father climbs the staircase, she uncovers the mouthpiece and asks, "Finnick?"

"Silver," he drawls. She grins. A part of her had been worried that he'd hung up.

"I should probably get some sleep," she says hesitantly.

He chuckles and tells her goodnight, that he'll see her later. And as Silver hangs up the phone, she wonders how she could have talked to Finnick Odair for a whole hour without even realizing it.

* * *

 

The next morning dawns bright and sunny. The sky is cheerful, almost, as if it is laughing at them from far above where it is safe. Sil wakes up early. She hasn't gotten much sleep. The anticipation of the Reaping has kept her up, tossing and turning. The few dreams she had were nightmares – people learning about her identity, being tortured because of it, dying in the Games. They were frightening solely because they could very well happen.

She rolls out of bed feeling groggy and unhappy. There are dark circles under her eyes. She hides them with makeup, then goes to pick out her dress for the Reaping. She won't get into it until later, but the anticipation of the day fuels her need to prepare.

Breakfast with her father is somber and quiet. She takes a walk outside after it is done, picks a bright bouquet of desert lilies, and spends an hour arranging them around the manor. Then she goes up to the small tower that houses the aviary and listens to the nightingales sing. Anything to get her mind off of things.

When it is time to get ready for the Reaping, Sil dresses herself in a dress that is more subtle than usual. There are no outrageous Capitol designs churning over the fabric. No gaudy bows or extravagant gloves or winding hairstyles. She has chosen a dress that is very far from her usual bright style. This one is darker. Violent. And it makes a statement.

If she is to go back into the Games, she will be a different person than the innocent young woman she was during her first time in the arena. She has a purpose now. She has knowledge and power that will make her a very elaborate target. Elaborate, because none of the other Victors have any idea as to the extent of her true skills. She will no doubt be forced to show them before these Games are over.

Black fabric drapes over her figure like midnight. She leaves her hair completely alone, tousling it into waves but doing nothing else. She wears no jewelry but for her ring, which flashes like a warning on her finger. Her makeup is minimal, but frames her eyes in a shadowy caress. It is all a part of her plan. A method of looking fierce to get sponsors. If she wants the Capitol to root for her in the Games, then she needs to show them a different side of her to keep them guessing.

Her father goes with her to the Reaping, but they separate in the crowd. Sil gives him a kiss on his cheek, and he tells her to be strong, then they go to their posts. Gemma goes to join the other adults, and Sil joins the other Victors on the stage.

Cashmere and Gloss are already there, looking determined as ever. They glance at Sil with raised brows, no doubt wondering why she suddenly looks so dark. She simpers at them and takes her place in the girl's section, morphing her features into coldness. She cannot be the bright and happy Victor the Capitol knows her to be.

If she is to go back into the arena, then she will be unforgiving and merciless. It is a survival technique more than anything else, but there is a small twinge of vengefulness in her plan too. Show the Capitol that she does not conform to their standards after all. Show them that she can be as barbaric and unsociable as any other Victor – that what they think they know about her might very well be false.

The District 1 escort takes the stage not long after, as soon as the entire district has gathered. His name is Evon. He's a complete peacock. The man is Capitol bred through and through, but he fits in marginally well here in District 1, where the Capitol might as well be worshipped. His flippant dress style is expectedly over the top, complete with a hat that is framed with flowers and finished off with a pink satin bow. He looks only partially separated from the crowd, which is also dressed to the nines in their most Capitol-esque fashions.

"Quiet, quiet please!" he says into the microphone, posh accent and all. The crowd slowly settles into silence just as the war film begins, highlighting Panem's history with the rebels and explaining why the Games are so important. Sil listens stoically to the narrator's voice. If she wanted to, she could repeat it word for word. It is drilled into her mind from years of hearing it.

"Welcome to this year's Reaping!" Evon exclaims when the film tapers to a close. The screen shudders with blackness and Sil stares into it stoically. In front of her, Evon begins to explain the rules of this year's Quarter Quell, all the things everybody already knows. He nearly jumps up and down with excitement when he rambles about how the Victors will be Reaped, and wishes them all the very best as he introduces the two large bowls to the crowd. Inside the glass are the little scrolls that have the names of the Victors written on them.

"Girl's first, this year," Evon says, twisting his hand around the mouth of the female tribute bowl. At once, the entire stadium is silenced, waiting with baited breath to hear who is chosen.

Evon twirls his fingers into the bowl dramatically, taking his time flicking through the papers until he finds the 'right' one. That one, he takes and lifts daintily to his face, unwinding the paper with a patience that far surpasses that of the crowd, who look as if they are on the edge of their seats.

"The female tribute for the 75th Hunger Games…is Silver Lamprey Cornelius!" Evon shouts, and Sil has to literally force her body not to jerk with surprise. She stands there in all her darkened glory, facing a crowd of people she never really fit in with, knowing that at this moment, the cameras are focused on her. Her reaction. Her emotions. So…like a good double agent, Silver fakes the both of them.

"Gracious," she says, tilting her head to the side and blinking out into the crowd. Evon holds out his hand for her, and she steps toward it. Her gown flutters around her legs as she walks, like drapes of midnight wind. Inside she is shivering. It is nothing like the adrenaline of her current job. This is a fear she hasn't felt for years, but no one would be able to tell, because Sil looks fearless and even a little bored as she steps up to shake Evon's hand and stands beside him.

"Congratulations," Evon tells her with a blinding smile, as if he's not sending her to a possible death in an arena far from home. She doesn't respond. There's nothing to say, really. Thank you for choosing me to take part in yet another killing spree? Thank you for possibly ruining the plans I've built for the past seven years? For being stupid enough to send the Sterling Nightingale back into the arena? Oh yes, thank you so very much.

"The boys next!" Evon calls eagerly, already passing over her to reach into the male tribute bowl. It doesn't matter who he chooses for her male partner: there is no Victor alive who would willingly ally with stupid Silver Lamprey Cornelius.

"And the male tribute for the 75th Hunger Games is Gloss Augustine!" Evon declares, and Sil sighs. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Gloss exchange a glowering look with his sister before stepping out onto the center of the stage. He does not hesitate or wait for someone else to volunteer. He knows that no one will. No Victor wants to go back into the arena, even if it means sparing the life of a friend. At least no one here in District 1, where friendship is measured in monetary value.

Gloss stands across from her. The expression on his face as he looks down into Sil's is tumultuous at best. Sil gives him a cheerless smile – one of those smirks that isn't neither happy nor sad, and makes the receiver of it wonder if it's actually meant as a sneer. The sight of it makes Gloss's eyes darken as he reaches his hand to her for the mandatory handshake between tributes. When their fingers meet, Sil's is crushed by the brute force of a man she's lived near for her entire life, but hardly knows. But in that moment, Sil does know one thing: he will try to kill her.

Evon claps loudly, prompting the crowd into a similar state. It is almost as bad as the excitement that they will find in the Capitol.

Peacekeepers arrive to lead them away. No goodbyes this time around. Her last memory of her father will be the wary way he'd kissed her cheek before leaving for his section. She tries to find him in the crowd but there are too many faces, and the one she wants to see most of all is hidden from sight by waving hands and ridiculous tall hats copied from last season's fashion trends in the Capitol.

She is on her own, now, on her way to the place she hates most in the world.

She has no idea if she'll be able to pull this off without exposing who she really is.


	18. That hangs in the suspense

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which the Victors dress up for the Chariot Parade, Sil has a few uncomfortable moments with the other Victors, and she is rather taken aback at the frankly incredible sight of Finnick's costume.
> 
> Thank you all once again for your feedback, and please enjoy! :)

 

**Chapter Eighteen | That hangs in the suspense**

" _She would not allow herself any more time to think. Her early, somewhat Bohemian training had made her something of a fatalist. She felt that events would shape themselves, that the directing of them was not in her hands." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

Sil knows the routine. Besides having done it herself seven years ago, she's mentored many tributes since. She knows what to do and how to present herself. She knows what to expect.

The parade is practically immediate upon reaching the Capitol. Tributes are shuttled off to the Training Center the moment they leave the train. Stylists wait for them and transform them within hours. Sometimes the transformation is horrendous; sometimes it is lovely.

When the District 1 train arrives at the Capitol station, the crowd is already gathered. It is even more riotous than ever before, because the tributes aren't just anonymous vagabond children from outer districts but famous celebrities that the Capitol already knows. Naturally, the moment her and Gloss step onto the station platform, the cheering is ten times as loud as it usually is.

Gloss is a surly, annoyed grump beside her, but he still manages to smile and appeal to the crowds. Cashmere is with them as well, as their mentor. Another Victor named Lume is also with them, but Sil doesn't know him very well. He was older when she won her games and is probably hitting sixty now. She ignores him and everyone else in their little entourage, except for Evon, with whom she links arms with as she ambles through the crowd. Like her district partner, Sil is very responsive to the crowd. She nods to several people, lifts her hand to greet them, but remains vaguely reserved. She doesn't grin or give anyone her too-wide smile. Starting now, she will be making a transformation of her own.

Evon is practically beside himself as he walks beside her, tittering about the crowds and pointing out 'new amazing' fashions that he simply must try. By the time they reach the safety of the car that will take them to the Training Center, Gloss looks slightly more annoyed than before, probably because Sil and Evon are so busy exchanging fashion tips.

"Darling, I'm telling you right now that raised lapels are out," Sil says as she gathers her dress and seats herself in the car. "With your particular complexion, I dare say a bit of pastel would look wonderful. Muted gold tones are trending of course, but I could see you in lavender."

Evon looks like he's just received a compliment from the Gods.

"Do you really think so? I've always thought purples were a bit…mmm gaudy," he says with a delicate shrug.

Sil shakes her head as the car starts moving, expression morphing into horror at the mere notion. "Dear me, no! You'd look positively exotic. I'm sure Gigi's would have something fabulous. You'll have to stop by, and tell the saleswoman that I sent you."

Evon is about to say something (probably exuberant thank yous), when Gloss snarks, "Would you both shut up. I can't stand another moment of listening to this shit." Cashmere snorts as well, most likely in agreement. Lume just glowers out the window.

Sil simpers and trills, "Well. Pastels would do wonders for you too, Gloss. All those gloomy expressions are not helping your constitution."

Gloss honestly looks like he could strangle her and not feel a shred of remorse. Luckily they're very close to the Training Center, and Sil doesn't say another word because she does value her life, thank you very much. And as much fun as it is to annoy the other Victors with her dual persona, Sil doesn't want to make him hate her enough to hunt her down the moment the Games begin.

The moment the car pulls up in front of the Training Center, they are rushed off to their consecutive stylists. Sil's team is completely new. She's never met any of them before, but greets them graciously as if she's known them her entire life. Because she's already been adhering to Capitol fashion for the last few years, they hardly have any work to do at all. A few touch-ups on her nails and eyebrows is basically it.

"I'll get Iridessa," one of the women say, and leaves to find the head stylist. The name seems vaguely familiar to Sil. She's probably a stylist who has been transferred to the District 1 team from another one. When Iridessa arrives, she welcomes Sil happily, and Sil welcomes her just as happily. It's much too lighthearted than the situation calls for, but this is the Capitol after all.

"Silver, lovely to meet you," the woman says, closing the door behind her. She holds out a dress which is covered in a black fabric bag, and the stylists rush to hang it up. Iridessa turns her full attention to Sil, looking her over with a clinical eye. "Perfect," she says after a moment of this, clapping her hands together with a smile. "Thank goodness you've been keeping good hygiene. So many tributes don't even know what waxing is! You've made our job very easy today."

It's probably meant as a compliment, so Sil smiles. "Oh yes. I wouldn't dream of forgoing waxing!" She cringes just for effect.

The stylists all nod in tandem, like chickens bobbing their heads. Iridessa sagely agrees and says, "You're such a famous Victor, I wanted to do something a little different this year. Would you like to see the gown?"

When Sil nods, Iridessa unzips the fabric that covers the dress, revealing inch by inch of tantalizing silver and diamond-like stones. In all its glory, the dress is spectacular, if not a bit daring. Definitely something Sil would wear out to a high class event. Its made of an efflorescent, chiffon silvery white fabric, but that isn't all. When the light catches it, the entire piece turns almost luminous due to the reflective diamond stones sewn into the fabric.

They are everywhere, clustered heavily at the bodice and trailing farther and farther apart as they drip down the skirts. The fabric is a gossamer chiffon, basically see through but for the diamonds that are patterned over the important bits. Luckily it's only partially see through. The fabric is thick enough to give her some level of comfort, but the hint of her skin beneath is relatively obvious. It's really more like expensive lingerie than an actual dress.

"Oh, it's beautiful," Sil breaths, stepping around the dress to see all angles of it. It represents District 1 well enough, but Sil suspects it had been created to represent her more than her district. The diamond-like stones are luxurious, as is the set of expensive looking jewelry that Iridessa shows her moments later.

A huge diamond ring, a diamond choker necklace that trickles down the collar, and a hairpiece that shines no matter what lighting.

"I'm glad you like it," Iridessa says, handing the jewelry off to one of the stylists. "Let's get you dressed up, shall we?" She takes the dress off the hanger for Sil to step into.

Being surrounded by all this luxury is even better than seeing it within reach. Sil feels like a princess as she stands in front of the mirror. The stylists twitter around her like little birds, doing her hair and clasping the jewelry on. They dust her eyelids with a silvery powder and rouge her lips with deep plum red. Fake eyelashes that seem to flutter out like wings are glued on. There are two tiny little diamonds on the outer edges – fake, of course, otherwise they would drag everything down from their weight.

After forty five minutes of this, it's time to get out the shoes. Sil is impressed with Iridessa's style. The shoes she picks are crystal-like. They're edgy in a way the dress is not. Sil likes them, and they definitely complete the look.

"…What do you think?" Iridessa asks, arms crossed as she looks over Sil for any imperfections. Sil stares at herself too, twisting in front of the mirror. She nods after a moment and says, "It's perfect. Thank you."

They exchange smiles.

"You'd better head to the chariots. It's almost time," Iridessa says, leading Sil to the door. The Victor sends her stylists one last nod before opening the room and heading off to where the chariots await.

Well that had been bracing. She'd forgotten about how it had felt like, having all those stylists look at her like she's a science experiment. Her cheeks are already sore from pretending to smile, and by the time Sil reaches the huge cavernous area where the chariots await, she's tired and feeling a little grumpy, so obviously she's not exactly happy when her first confrontation is with Gloss.

"Well don't you look like a fucking princess," he drawls the moment he sees her. Coincidentally (and inconveniently for her), he is surrounded by other Career Victors. They chuckle, and Sil huffs.

Drama is what she's good at. Manipulating the drama of any situation, spinning everyone in circles until they really start believing that it's all she can do – she's good at that. But she's not here to be a dramatic little fop. If she wants to have even a small chance of surviving past the bloodbath in these Games, she's got to be a little more edgy than normal. A little less like Silver Lamprey Cornelius and a little more like the Sterling Nightingale.

She paints on a smile that is a little more reckless than usual. "You look particularly demure yourself, Gloss  _darling._ Did you insist upon the sapphires, or was that your stylist?"

Gloss is dressed in a similar fashion, but instead of diamonds, he's dripping with sapphires. The little stones are sewn into the fabric of his sheer doublet. Like her, the fabric is gossamer and vaguely see-through. Only the lower half is completely covered, with a thicker, more resilient fabric that is devoid of any jewels. He's wearing these odd breeches that are definitely too tight in the crotch area and will probably take him a lot of effort to remove. She's honestly a little surprised the stylists didn't sew gems into the pants too – imagine the effect he'd have, racing down the track and blinding everyone with his sparkling groin.

She chuckles at the thought and purrs, "How very dramatic you look, my love. All you need is a tiara."

As it is, Gloss has been forced into only a few pieces of jewelry. A long chained necklace drops from his neck. The pendant is basically just a huge sapphire surrounded by little diamonds. He's wearing two rings, one on each hand.

He snarls at her and steps forward, stalking right up into her face before murmuring lowly, "The only reason I'm putting up with you is because you're here instead of Cashmere, but you'd better watch yourself, Silver. You know I don't have much patience."

If he thinks to intimidate her, he's got another thing coming. Silver flashes him a wicked smirk that looks very foreign on her face and leans in closer, tracing a finger over the sapphire on his chest. His nostrils flare at the subtly rebellious move. It's obvious enough that he hasn't put her in her place.

"I daresay not," she murmurs, and her eyes flash with an intelligence that makes him frown. "By the end of this week, you'll wish you had me for an ally, Gloss, but by then, I'll have already moved on." She sighs and gives him a pitying look. "It's too bad, really. Your loss, I suppose."

This time, he laughs. It's loud enough to catch the attention of some Victors standing close by, but not enough to make them stand out. Her threats clearly aren't working on him. As much as she loathes the idea of doing it though, she will have to show some of her true skills this week. There is a target on her back, put there herself. The only way she'll survive this will be to show the others that she isn't the weak, sniveling little Victor she's been pretending to be.

Gloss will realize that before the Games begin, but by then he'll be too late.

"I wouldn't laugh too hard, darling. You might strain your voice before the interviews. Nothing worse than not being able to tell the audience how many people you want to kill, am I right?" she trills a little laugh. "Don't worry. As your district partner, I have plenty of stories to tell about your little exploits. I'm sure I'll be able to wow the crowd for you."

She smiles, pats his shoulder, and walks away before he can cause even more of a scene. Really. Only a few hours back in the Capitol and he's already making a fuss.

The District 1 chariot is, of course, at the very front of the line. She starts to walk toward it, intent on avoiding the other Victors for now, but stops when she sees Katniss and Finnick chatting by the District 12 chariot. For a moment she flounders. Finnick is…he's basically…

"Gracious," Sil breathes, not bothering with subtlety as she looks him over.

"Right? The Capitol Daydream over there is definitely chiseled," someone says from beside her.

Sil jumps. It's Haymitch Abernathy, Katniss's mentor. Why he's talking to her, she doesn't know, but there's this weird light in his eye when he looks down at her that makes her suspect something is off. Has Plutarch gotten a hold of him already?

She frowns and mutters, "I was looking at Katniss's costume." Liar.

Haymitch laughs. "Yeah, I bet. Listen, kid, do yourself a favor and stop lying to yourself. You don't know how many days you've got left."

For some reason, his words sting a little. Maybe it's because she doesn't want to think about the possibility of her death. She hasn't actually considered it yet. She can't die. She's got too many things to do.

With a haughty sniff, Sil turns her head, "Well. Taking advice from a drunkard is certainly not on my to-do list for today."

She starts to leave, but Haymitch grabs her arm to stop her. "Silver. Meet me on the roof later tonight. I've got something I need to talk to you about." There's this intelligent, knowing gleam in his eye that makes Sil pause. Does he…does he know who she is? This situation is starting to rattle her. And that's not even counting the fact that she can't remember exchanging more than a handful of words with Haymitch in all the seven years she's been a Victor. He obviously knows something, or why would he bother seeking her out?

She's got half a mind to ask him outright, but only manages to mutter, "…If I have time," before yanking her arm away and stalking toward her chariot. She'll have to exchange some words with Plutarch, because she's got a bad feeling about this.

She doesn't know much about Haymitch Abernathy, except that he's from 12 and basically lives in a constant state of inebriation. She doesn't know if he's trustworthy or not, if he can keep a secret, or if he's even willing to risk his life for a rebellion that may or may not work. But clearly he knows something, and she's willing to bet that it has something to do with Plutarch.

With a frown, Sil makes her way to her chariot, opting to ignore the conversation going on far behind her at District 12. Whatever Finnick does, and who he talks to, is not any of her business. So what if they'd had a long talk on the phone last night? It's not as if they're really together. For all intents and purposes, Finnick still thinks she's a silly foppish dandy whose worries don't extend past what she's wearing.

She idles beside her chariot with a contemplative look on her face. She doesn't have time to concern herself over what Finnick Odair thinks of her. Too many things need to be planned out, too many people need to be spoken to. And then there's Haymitch Abernathy, who has become number one on that particular list – something that both bothers her and gives her hope.

A horn blows through the chatter-filled room before Sil can come to any conclusions about how she feels regarding the District 12 mentor. Victors immediately part ways and hurry to their chariots. Just outside the tall iron gates, drummers begin to beat and the crowds start to excitedly cheer even before the parade begins. A headache forms between Sil's eyes, which she promptly ignores in favor of a pasted-on smile.

She steps into her chariot. Gloss is right beside her, but he edges as far from her as he can in the sloping cart. She juts a hip against the gleaming wood and fixes her dress. She tries not to look behind her at the lines of chariots in her wake. Finnick is only three chariots down. She wonders if he's looking at her.

When the gates open, the crowd turns into a wild yelling mess that only doubles once the first sign of horses show. Sil is glad, in a way, to be the first one. She has the advantage of being the most noticeable – the first in a long line of others. To say she uses this to her advantage wouldn't be false. Any advantage in the Hunger Games is worth using, and she has long ago realized that the Games don't start in the arena. They start here.

Gloss, apparently, knows this too.

They're barely a few steps in before Gloss suddenly whips his arm out and wordlessly snatches Sil's waist. Her grip on the railing is very suddenly torn away when he heaves her against his side. The diamonds of her dress clink inaudibly against the sapphires of his shirt, and she sends him a surprised look that makes him smirk in amusement.

"The crowd wants to see us unified, don't you think?" he murmurs, and then adds, "Smile, Silver. Imagine the speculation this creates – is Finnick really your one and only, or are you having a secret affair with me because he's so boring? Sponsors will eat it up."

She doesn't outwardly react. It would only spur the crowd on, as well as Gloss himself. Instead she smiles openly and snuggles into his side, wrapping an arm snugly around his waist and lifting a hand to wave to the crowd. Her skirt flaps out behind her like a cape, twisting around Gloss's legs melodramatically. In their see-through clothes littered with gemstones, they must make quite a pair.

As much as she rather loathes Gloss, he's right about one thing: the crowd definitely eats it up. She can imagine what Caesar Flickerman is saying about this intimate embrace. Naturally, Sil decides to milk it with everything she's got, taking advantage of the new situation with a flexibility that she uses every day, pretending to be someone else.

"How intelligent you are, Gloss daring," she murmurs as his hand slips down to her hip. If the crowds don't notice that hand right now, they certainly will later when Caesar goes over the footage. "I hadn't known you even  _had_  ideas. A shock, to be sure." She sends him an insipid little smile and then turns to blow kisses to the crowd.

His only response is his arm tightening around her waist. She ignores him, too, instead giving all her attention to the crowd. She's not sure what the other Victors are doing behind her, but she doesn't care. She waves and grins and blows her kisses to the crowd, skirts shearing up and behind her, tickling her legs.

Of course, nothing she does is as effective as what District 12  _doesn't_  do.

The Capitol love their Victors, but none of them quite compare to their adoration of the star-crossed lovers at the end of the line. The moment the last chariot appears, the cheering gets ten times louder. And when Katniss's dress literally catches fire and sends smoke hurtling out behind them, Sil has to glance back to blink at the spectacle, as does almost every other Victor in the line.

It definitely makes quite the sight. Beside her, Gloss scoffs beneath his breath. She only hears it because he's so close to her, but she doesn't do anything to respond to him. She's just a tiny bit preoccupied by the sight of Katniss's fierce expression, which she can just barely see through the tangled limbs of the other Victors that are stretched out behind her. As she's about to turn back toward the front, she catches sight of the lean torso of Finnick, who is just turning back himself.

In the split second it takes for her to be reeled in by his ridiculously good looks, Finnick catches her eye and winks. And, because she's so taken aback by the entire sight of him (as is the rest of Panem, undoubtably), she actually feels her face get a little red. Then it's over, and she's facing the front again, and Finnick is three chariots behind her. Always three steps behind.

A tiny shred of guilt layers over her. Here she is, ogling Finnick's barely clothed body like some Capitolite woman who reduces him to a common prostitute. She has no right to look at him like that. Yet who wouldn't? He is utterly gorgeous.

She goes back to waving, grinning, gearing up the crowd. She clutches Gloss tightly, for no other reason than that she feels lightheaded. The constant swinging of the chariot is making her nauseous. The loud cheers, the beat of the drums, the Capitol anthem blaring in the background, the clop of the horses all press the current situation home. She's going back into the Games. And the plans her and Plutarch have been creating for the last few weeks might not even work. So many variables could alter everything.

President Snow is waiting for them at the end of the long concrete slab. The chariots line up, one after the other in perfect symmetry. There is something to be said about how well the Capitol is able to brainwash these silly creatures who cheer for them and shout out their admiration. It is a sobering thought, but one that is too quickly pushed aside when Snow begins to speak.

"Welcome! Tributes, we welcome you," he starts, sounding just the tiniest bit gleeful at seeing all his rebellious little offspring lined up to face their deaths. It could easily be mistaken for the common excitement that most Capitolites have for the Games. Only those waiting directly before him seem to be able to tell the difference.

"This time, you are returning not as mentors, but as tributes yourselves. We applaud your courage, and your sacrifice." He pauses as the crowd explodes into cheers, and says louder, "And we wish you…happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor."

He nods to them, and like a snake stuffed into a suit, gives Katniss Everdeen a little smile that looks positively evil. Sil does not envy her for being the center of his attention at this moment.

Slowly, the chariots trickle into the gate beneath the tall podium. District 1 enters first, and even after Katniss and Peeta are both inside and the gates are shut behind them, the endless cheering and screaming from the crowd can still be heard thundering through the space.

With a grunt, Gloss drags his arm away from Sil as if he's been burnt. She untangles herself too, careful to keep most of her weight against the chariot should he attempt to make her look like a fool. She can definitely see him pushing her to the floor just for the amusement it would bring him. Instead, he only twists her wrist a little bit as he roughly jerks her away from him. The subtle pain it brings is miniscule, and Sil hardly bats an eye.

"Well done, Gloss," she drawls quietly, watching as the others start to get off the chariots. "I'm sure the Capitol will love watching you grope me during the parade reruns."

He scoffs, jumping down onto the platform below, and says, "Come off it, Silver. As if I'd actually enjoy touching you. I took advantage of the fact that you were at my disposal." He smirks up at her, and she watches silently as he saunters away. Her face is set into an unreadable expression and there's an air of haughty disdain around her by the time her supposed lover appears at her side.

"Had fun with Gloss?" he quips, extending a hand to her. Sil turns her eyes to his. At once, his familiar gaze puts her at ease in ways she can't describe. Instead of responding, Sil just reaches for the outstretched hand and allows him to help her step down from the chariot. But she steps a little too close to him, and the momentum pushes her right up against his bare chest before she can catch herself.

Awkward amusement fills the air between them. Finnick lets out a chuckle and gently wraps his arms around her shoulders in a move that rather shocks her. "You know, Silver," he murmurs mischievously, "you only had to ask. No need to make a dramatic ordeal about embracing me."

She splutters, glares up at him, and wrestles herself out of his arms and away from that gloriously bare chest. "I tripped!" she insists with a frown, eyes fiery. Her determination to prove this to him only makes him laugh harder.

"Yes, of course you did, sugar," he says patronizingly, then pauses and adds, "I forgot – want a sugar cube?" He reaches into the pocket of his very small shorts and pulls out a handful. She's honestly curious as to why he even has pockets and how he's managed to get so many sugar cubes into  _that_  one. Her eyes drift down to said pocket with a raised eyebrow.

Finnick copies the expression with a smirk. "Eyes up here, sugar."

As he expects, she immediately blushes and sends him a glower, darting her gaze away from his entire body to instead glare petulantly at the far wall.

"How you even managed to get into that outfit galls me," she mutters.

Finnick laughs. "So that's a no to the sugar cube, right?" He dusts one of them off and pops it into his mouth. As he chews it, he tells her lowly, "And the hard part is getting  _out_  of it, darling."

He's so obviously making fun of her that Sil has to sigh. She's unsure if it makes her annoyed or excited. She's honestly never sure where she stands with this man. The night before, she hadn't wanted to get off the phone with him. Now, face to face, she almost wants to turn and run in the opposite direction. Such is the fear of falling too hard, too quickly, for a man who could never truly love her back. How could he, when he doesn't even  _know_  her? Flirting, at the very least, is an easy alternative to delving into such morose feelings, and he does it very well.

His eyes are twinkling when he murmurs, "Your outfit looks like it might be difficult to get out of too. Don't suppose you need any help?" He keeps his eyes respectfully on her face, but it makes no difference. Her see-through gown is only sheer in some areas, and doesn't show off anything she wouldn't want people to see. She brushes him off with a pout.

"Gracious, Finnick," she starts, "you're being overly scandalous today. It's making me rather – "

"Excited?"

"Put off," she finishes, eyes narrowed at his little attempt to drag out the truth. Because he's not entirely wrong; she is a bit excited. He does have that effect on her, unfortunately. Not that she's going to just admit it. His ego is large enough as it is.

He grins and hooks her arm around his, apparently not taking her words to heart. He rarely ever does.

"Ah well. If at first you don't succeed…" he trails off with a wink. "I'll escort you to your floor."

Sil isn't sure if he's just being flirty for the sake of it or actually protective, because as he leads her to the elevator, Finnick sends Gloss an almost edgy look that she nearly misses. The other Victors are slowly heading towards the elevators too, though most of them are still in chatty groups with their 'mentors'. In these particular Games, the idea of even having a mentor is almost laughable…and a cause for concern, in her case.

Cashmere and Lume are technically the mentors for District 1, but she's positive that they'll be focusing the entirety of their effort in bringing Gloss back alive. She has no doubt that they'll be leaving her to the wolves…or in this case, the mutts. Having allies is therefore extremely important, which leads to yet another problem: who in their right mind would willingly ally themselves with the fop from District 1? It doesn't matter that she is far more skilled in combat than they know. The image she has cultivated for herself goes against her this time.

Finnick seems to pick up on her quiet contemplation, and once again she wonders how he can so easily read her when he cannot see the truth of her character. As they enter the elevator and huddle towards the back, Finnick murmurs, "We need to talk about the Games, Sil."

She's not entirely sure what he means by that – the Games is a broad topic, after all. She glances at him as the doors shut, leaving them alone behind the gleaming chrome.

"…Yes," she says, pushing the buttons for 1 and 4, "I suppose you're right."

He crosses his arms over his bare chest and sighs. "Listen…I've been talking to…a few people. I think we should be allies. And I think we should try joining forces with Katniss and Peeta."

She swallows. Okay. She translates his words in her head. He's been talking to Plutarch, who hasn't told him about her, only that she'd be an important ally to have due to her considerable amount of sponsors. They should join up with Katniss because she's the one person they need alive if they're ever going to break free of the Capitol. He has accepted the rebellion, then. She wonders if he'd had to think about it, or if he jumped right up and joined. She wonders if he would've joined months ago when they first started 'dating', and if she's been wasting her time with all her pretenses.

"They would make good allies," she acquiesces, playing dumb as usual. "The Capitol does adore their star-crossed lovers."

Finnick pauses, then admits, "They also love their heartless Careers. Look, Silver, you won't stand a chance alone. Cashmere is going to focus on Gloss. You won't have outside help this time around."

She peers up at him, only to find that he's staring hard at her, like he's trying to justify something in his head. The expression makes him look overly serious. It's odd, not seeing his flirty grin or laughing eyes, but she finds that she rather likes this more serious side of him.

"Yes, that's probably true," she says, and wants to say more, but she's all too aware of the camera glaring down at them from the corner of the elevator. It seems that they are always being watched.

"…Did your father make that ring?" he suddenly asks, just as the elevator drags to a halt. Startled, Sil looks down at her left hand where the pearl ring glimmers in the dull orchestrated light.

"Ah…yes," she says, faltering a little. The doors swish open, and they both move to the front of the elevator. She steps out feeling a bit strange, taken aback by the way he so quickly noticed. To be honest, all thoughts of their engagement had drifted far away the moment Snow's announcement about the Reaping blared into her life. She could have almost forgotten entirely that she is supposedly engaged to Finnick.

The doors start to close, but Finnick holds them back. He's staring down at her with an unreadable expression. She's afraid to look at it too closely, lest she see something like disgust written on the planes of his face.

For a moment, they just stand there silently. Then Finnick mutters, "…I like it."

The elevator doors slink shut before she can respond. Her eyes dart up to catch his just as the crevice of space between them passes away. In the split second before they are separated by chrome, she swears she sees the hint of a smile lingering around the edges of his mouth, curling up with that gentle hopefulness she had seen earlier.

But the moment passes too quickly, and as usual, Sil is left floundering in her own confusion as she stares at the closed doors.

She doesn't realize when an exact copy of that hopeful smile stretches across her own face. She also doesn't realize that the moment the elevator doors shut, Finnick lets out a small chuckle as he grins at the floor.

What is that saying again? What you don't know can't hurt you. In this moment, pain is far away and nonexistent. If only it would last.


	19. I am lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Sil confronts Haymitch and proves to the other Victors that she isn't quite as useless as they all think she is.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy this update. I had so much fun writing this chapter ;)

 

**C** **hapter Nineteen | I am lost**

" _The eyes were no longer languid, the mouth no longer good-humored and inane. A curious look of intense passion seemed to glow from beneath his drooping lids, the mouth was tightly closed, the lips compressed, as if the will alone held that surging passion in check." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

Sil isn't entirely sure what to think when she goes to meet Haymitch on the rooftop later that night. It's ten o'clock when she goes up, not late enough to be suspicious to any cameras watching her movements. She has rid herself of the see-through gown and is now wearing a much more comfortable pair of slim jeans with a very soft hoodie that she normally wouldn't wear. But it's from Linault's Casual Elegance line, so at least she can claim it to be designer.

Haymitch probably doesn't notice anyway. He's waiting for her on the far end of the roof, standing with his hands in his pockets as he stares at the far away streets below. The traffic still weaves heavily down there, and the lights still glare restlessly. The Capitol never seems to sleep, but Sil is used to it by now. She has, after all, been living here on and off since her victory.

"Admiring the view?" she asks dryly, crossing her arms and peering at Haymitch's back. The older man jumps in surprise, clearly not having expected her, or perhaps he just hadn't known she could be that quiet.

He turns to her and gestures for her to go to him. Sil purses her mouth but steps forward, wondering yet again why Haymitch had called her up here. It's clearly about the games, but Sil couldn't imagine that Haymitch, and by extension Katniss and Peeta, would want her as an ally. Of course, that wouldn't stop her from becoming one anyway, but they haven't even seen what she's capable of yet.

"Used to annoy me," Haymitch suddenly drawls, lifting a tumbler that she hadn't noticed to his lips. She's not sure how she'd missed making  _that_  observation, but then again Haymitch can be sneaky with his alcohol.

"What did?" she wonders with a sigh, and goes to sit down on the bench by the rooftop railing.

Haymitch snorts. "You."

With an annoyed eyebrow, Sil shoots him a glower. If  _this_  is the whole reason he's asked to see her –

He sends her a smirk and then adds, "But now it makes sense."

She very nearly asks  _what makes sense_ , before Sil realizes that she's tired of him twisting her in circles with this conversation. Apparently getting a straight answer from Haymitch Abernathy is too much to ask.

She sighs again, praying for patience. " _Gracious_ ," she complains, "but your cryptic messages are much too confusing at this time of night – "

"Let me clarify then," Haymitch cuts in, turning away from the view so as to look directly at her. He leans against the iron railing and stares at her for a long minute, before finally murmuring, "I've been speaking with Plutarch."

Five words have never caused so much worry. She blinks at him, appearing calm and composed even with the flurry of concern that suddenly becomes a whirlwind inside her. Somehow, she manages to give a silly little laugh and obliviously ask, "Who? The Gamemaker? Why ever would you bother talking with him?"

This is the second time Plutarch has been mentioned today. Once by Finnick, and now by Haymitch. Plutarch has obviously gone in and spoken with some of the Victors on Sil's list. It's part of the plan. No need to be worried. But the next half of Haymitch's revelation is very surprising indeed.

" _You_  took up most of the conversation, actually," he casually informs her, one hand stuffed into his pocket as he takes another sip of his drink. The subtle clink of ice cubes clinking against glass fills the silence.

In a neutral voice, Sil asks, "Did I? Anything I should be aware of?" Surely she is worrying too much. They wouldn't be talking about  _that_. The fact that she's the –

"Sterling Nightingale. Shocking, really. I applaud you for so thoroughly pulling the wool over our eyes all these years," Haymitch quips, and she gapes. He chuckles.

"Plutarch told me," he says with a shrug. Anyone might think that he is taking this information almost too lightly, but there is a very serious gleam in Haymitch's eyes that tells her he is not. She quickly matches his expression, immediately dropping the too-wide smile and the ditzy, bored gaze.

"Had I known Plutarch would jeopardize my position like this – "

"He's  _saving_  your position, Silver."

She cuts a laugh, "By informing the most infamous drunkard in Panem the identity of the Sterling Nightingale?  _Pray tell,_  Haymitch, how is that helping me?"

Her voice is a drawl of sarcasm, the posh accent still there but lessened into its normal pitch. There is no dramatic waving of hands or stupid grins or ridiculous pet names. Haymitch stares at her like he's seeing the entire world clearly.

"Even I have to admit that's pretty amazing," he mutters to himself, and shakes his head. In a louder voice, he says, "Look, Cornelius, I know all about your little rebellion and I'm all for it, but we're going back into the  _games_. Doing everything alone is going to get you killed." He takes another sip, and Sil crosses her arms over her chest. "Now that I'm aware of your… _skillset_ ," he says with a smirk, "I'll try to push Katniss and Peeta toward you. Get them to cozy up to you. Without my help, I really doubt Katniss would approach you with a ten foot pole. No offense."

Sil rolls her eyes. "Of course she wouldn't. She's not stupid." In a more exasperated tone, she sighs, "You had better be the only person Plutarch told."

Thankfully, Haymitch nods. "He's told us all about the plan, but don't worry. Your Capitol Daydream is still in the dark about you. Probably for the best."

She takes that to mean Finnick. Haymitch has the strangest nicknames for people.

"…Yes," Sil mutters quietly, wondering if it is for the best. Keeping Finnick in the dark is both a good thing and a bad thing. Knowledge can be dangerous. Especially the kind of knowledge that pertains to spying on President Snow. But she can already imagine his fury when Finnick finds out who she is. Guilt wracks through her at the thought, but what can she do? With the games at her doorstep, she doesn't have time to tell Finnick and expect that he'll just forgive her in a matter of days.

"A word of advice, before we part ways," Haymitch says a moment later, after a long beat of silence. She glances up at him. "Show the others what you've got tomorrow during training. Especially Katniss. But don't be a typical Career while you do it, otherwise she'll probably put you on her 'to-kill' list."

Sil rolls her eyes and bites back a snort. That's what she was going to do anyway. Haymitch's advice is apparently only worthwhile if you're a thoughtless procrastinator who jumps into situations without logic.

He pauses, then adds with a smirk, "And don't be too worried about Odair. Anything you do at this point will probably be forgiven. He's clearly become smitten with you."

This time, Sil does snort. She finds it rather difficult to believe that Finnick could actually feel something for her. "I won't hold my breath," she mutters, and turns to the exit without waiting for a response.

Haymitch just smirks wider and takes another sip of his drink. Love. He's always surprised at how blind it can be.

* * *

 

Her impromptu and rather shocking meeting with Haymitch out of the way, Sil is on a new mission: to find Plutarch. The closer she gets to the lower levels of the Training Center, the angrier she finds herself. She can hardly be blamed for it, can she? Plutarch did, after all, reveal a vital piece of information to a man she isn't wholly sure she can even trust. And about her, no less. But when she finds him, Plutarch sets her worries aside.

"President Coin wanted him to know. His opinion of you will help you get in with Katniss and Peeta during the Games," he tells her, and she can't really argue with that. If he'd only been following orders, then what can she say? At least he hasn't told anyone else. Like Finnick.

The day has been one long worry after another, and when Sil finally returns to the District 1 suite, she is exhausted. Gloss barely gives her a second glance as she sits down in the TV room. Recaps of the Reapings are on, but she only watches as far as District 8 before she loses interest. She can always watch them again at a later time. She goes to bed early, locking her door in case Gloss decides it would be fun to torment her (she wouldn't necessarily put it past him), and the moment her head hits the pillow, she is out. She gets a surprisingly restful sleep. It really is a shame that she can't claim that the next day is restful, too.

She knows the drill, has this schedule memorized like the back of her hand. Day one had been the Reaping and the Chariot Rides. Day two will be the first day of training, followed by the initial interviews. Usually today's interviews are geared more toward getting to know the tributes to make things easier for potential sponsors. But Panem already knows the tributes this time around, and Sil isn't sure what kinds of questions Flickerman will ask.

She's sure they'll give her the questions beforehand, and puts those worries from her head. If anything, Sil is quite good at thinking things up on the spot anyhow.

She dresses for training early, having set her alarm before Evon, the District 1 escort, is even up. She's the first one at the breakfast table, and is half done by the time Gloss and the others grumpily join her.

"Morning!" she chirps happily, slightly amused at the way Gloss cringes at the cheerful greeting. He sends her a glare from above the rim of his coffee mug and digs into a full plate of scrambled eggs, sausage, and potatoes. No one except Evon answers her.

"Good morning, Silver," Evon says with a sleepy but sincere smile. He helps himself to a cup of tea and a croissant. As he bites into it, crumbs fall onto his pristine emerald shirt.

The two of them spend a few minutes chatting about Gigi's and the newest lines by several famous designers. He gushes for a while about her and Gloss's outfits during the Chariot rides, and she pretends to be equally enraptured. No advice is given pertaining to the Games. None would be particularly needed at this point, and Sil doubts Cashmere would give her the time of day even if she asked. An hour later, Gloss and her are on their way down to the training center. There aren't many Victors down there, despite it being later than normal. Sil can only assume that this is their way of rebelling. Sleeping through training is an easy, effortless way of sticking it to Snow.

She doesn't have that luxury, and frankly it would have been out of character for her to skip something of this magnitude. When the elevators open and Sil steps out onto the floor of the training center, there are only about seven or eight Victors milling about. As expected, most of them are careers. And, also as expected, Katniss and Peeta are both there as well.

"Good morning darlings," Sil greets as she passes them, throwing Katniss a wink that is ignored. Katniss does a remarkable job at pretending the other Victors don't exist. She barely gives Sil a second glance before turning back to the poison plants section she's currently kneeling in. Peeta is a bit more amicable, but the soft smile he gives Sil looks flat today, like his heart's not really in it. She can't blame him.

She's examining her options, as well as her competition, when Finnick's smooth voice catches her rather off guard.

"Didn't think you'd show up," he muses, and she turns to glance at him. "You're an hour late, you know?" The edge of his mouth threatens to tilt upward into the boyish smirk she loves so much.

Sil simpers. "I won't be able to sleep in for very much longer," is all she says in response, and steps up to the camouflage section. A hasty smile is sent to the trainer. "Besides, it looks like I'm not the only one."

Finnick grunts out an agreement, and even that low sound seems beautiful in the tones of his voice. She really has to do something about these feelings. They're proving themselves to be quite troublesome for her concentration.

Finnick watches as she sits down at the table and examines the paint. It's actually not paint, really. There are no oils or watercolors or acrylics. The trainer rushes forward to explain, "This is mud, crushed leaves, red clay, blueberries, and chalk powder. They're natural ingredients that you'll find in the arena, if you know where to look."

For her part, Sil looks vaguely interested. She pulls the red clay toward herself and dips a finger into it, pressing the thick paste experimentally. Finnick watches with a raised eyebrow and chuckles, "I never thought I'd live to see the day when Silver Lamprey Cornelius willingly gets her hands dirty." He pauses, then dramatically inquires, "Are your beauty standards changing, Sil?"

She rolls her eyes at him and gestures to him to sit down. "Gracious. As if I'd use myself as a canvas when there's a perfectly good one standing right beside me."

Finnick sighs and sits down as if the whole situation isn't worth the trouble. But he doesn't complain when Sil reaches for him, dragging his arm across the table and rolling his sleeve up to his elbow. In fact, the way Finnick's eyes study her every movement is almost thrilling, in a way. Of course it isn't quite as thrilling as slathering mud onto his arm.

"That's cold!" he immediately complains, and tries to pull his arm away. She's got a tight grasp around his wrist, and Sil just forces it back onto the table with a smile that almost looks predatory. She peers up at him with that crooked, daring smile and he stares back in something akin to shock, because he's never seen it on her face before. It looks…well, lovely would be an understatement.

"Now Finnick," she begins pleasantly, "Where would you like to be: beside a mutt infested lake, running from Careers in the middle of the forest, or lost in a mountain pass?" All options are terrible, and she finds delight in the way Finnick glowers at her.

"Back in bed," is all he mutters, clearly not interested in playing her game. She's struck by the very sudden image of what Finnick would look like in bed – curled around sheets, preferably bare chested, with soft eyes that would flutter open the moment he felt her mouth on his – and then, snapping back to reality, Sil is horrified to have imagined herself there with him, as if she'd ever have a place in that imaginary dreamland.

She hides her pink cheeks from him as she turns to the natural paint and exclaims, "Forest it is!"

Whether Finnick notices her lapse or not, he thankfully doesn't tease her about it. There's really only so much teasing she can take in one morning, after all. Sil distracts herself by tilting the crushed leaves toward her. They've been made into a paste, crushed with a little bit of water. As she spreads the mixture over his forearm, Sil tries to shake any indication that she thinks this is an intimate moment. She must still be half asleep, because she's not sure how a moment like this could be considered intimate but it  _is._  Spreading green paste onto someone's arm is not generally considered to be romantic, but something between the two of them seems poignant and beautiful.

"You're more muscled than I thought," Finnick suddenly says, and smirks when Sil tilts her confused eyes at him. His own eyes flicker down to her skin tight training outfit in an almost suggestive way, and she huffs. The effort it takes to not blush is extremely draining.

"Your outfit yesterday left me with  _no_  misconceptions about  _your_  physique," she retorts, pretending to look offended by the mere memory. She's not sure she succeeds, because Finnick's smirk only widens.

"Is that longing in your voice?" Finnick murmurs, inching forward to peer at her face, which is downturned as she concentrates on painting his skin. Out of the corner of her eye, she notices the slow, crooked smirk climbing over his face, and braces herself for what she's sure will be some kind of amused comment. She's definitely not wrong.

"…Besides," he drawls, "I believe you might still have  _one_  misconception. I wasn't  _completely_  naked, you know." She looks at him with a horrified expression, and his mouth tightens as if to stop himself from bursting into laughter.

"Finnick!" she hisses, and is utterly mortified when she feels her cheeks redden. The sight of her blush actually does make him laugh, and she stares as his eyes shine with amused happiness. When he laughs, they look like sea glass reflecting the sunlight.

"You're almost as fun to tease as Katniss is," he tells her, as if this is some great feat that she should be proud of. She merely glowers at him and, in a moment of retaliation, dips her fingers into the green paste and streaks it across his cheek.

The sight of Finnick Odair with crushed leaves strewn over his immaculate face makes her bite her lip to keep from laughing. His gaze darts down to her mouth for a split second before he reaches forward and dips his finger into the mud. Sil, knowing what he's about to do, laughs and darts backwards with a chortled, "Finnick – "

Of course it's of little use, and she ends up with mud on both cheeks. Their little war has only just begun when a loud cough interrupts them, and they both turn to see Brutus from District 2 staring them down with hard eyes.

Finnick immediately loses his smile. His face becomes a blank mask that succors away all sign of emotion. Though he doesn't stand up, his body language is just as impervious as Brutus's, though in a more casually threatening way that only Finnick can pull off.

Sil just blinks up at Brutus with a confused look on her face and tilts her head. Finnick puts a hand over her wrist and squeezes it just as she opens her mouth to speak. She takes his silent warning seriously, but Brutus doesn't. He can be perceptive when he wants to be, apparently, because he glances down at Finnick's hand and sneers.

"Playing with your pet, Odair?" Brutus wonders, glancing over at Sil with a raised brow. She looks at him with cool indifference. Finnick seems to have copied the expression.

"Did you want something, or did you just come over to get mud in your hair?" Finnick asks instead of responding. He's still holding the little container of mud. The threat is real.

Brutus laughs. "I would've thought that, as a career yourself, you might be more interested in honing your skills at the trident station over there." He glances idly at Sil and shrugs, "Then again, Cornelius is pretty enough. Guess I can't blame you for taking advantage of your little 'relationship'. How is she in bed? You're an expert at that, after all. Does she live up to your standards?"

Finnick is no longer sitting back in that casual way. The moment Brutus had mentioned their supposed bedroom antics, he jumps up to his feet with a snarl. Sil just stares in shock, partly because of Brutus's nasty words, and partly because Finnick has become so furious. She can't remember if she's ever seen him so angry.

She's half expecting Finnick to scorn the very thought of being with her like that. But to her surprise, he doesn't take offense to the notion of him and her together. Instead, he darkly mutters, "Don't talk about her like that."

Before Brutus can retaliate, Sil sighs loudly. "This really is ridiculous. Brutus, why don't you run along to your little friends and continue with your knife throwing. Try to hit the target this time."

Both Finnick and Brutus turn to stare at her. Finnick, in shock. Brutus, in disgusted amusement. Sil just sits there demurely with mud strewn on her cheeks and blinks up at them.

With a derisive chuckle, Brutus murmurs, "That almost sounded like a challenge, Silver. You should really be more careful – "

"Oh, it was a challenge, Brutus darling," she interrupts, eyes flashing dangerously. The green of them seems to darken imperceptivity, and both men gape at her. This time, Brutus is as shocked as Finnick.

"Sil – " Finnick starts, a warning in his voice, but he gets completely side swept as Brutus ploughs in and insists, "Alright then. How about a friendly match between Victors?" He says 'friendly' as if he's laughing.

She shrugs daintily. "I prefer hand to hand over knives."

Finnick stares at her in complete horror, obviously comparing her slight frame against Brutus's hulking musculature. It doesn't seem at all possible, which is probably what makes Brutus laugh and agree immediately.

"What are you doing?" Finnick hisses at her the moment Brutus turns to lope toward the mats. Sil rubs the mud off her cheeks with a cheery smile and shrugs, casting Finnick a simpering smirk as she stands up.

"What on earth do you think, Finnick? I'm proving my worth and taking the target off my back," she tells him breezily, as if the answer is obvious. It is, but only to her, because she is the only one in this room that knows what she can do. She hasn't spent the last seven years sitting around, after all.

"I won't let you embarrass yourself like this," he says flatly, and grabs her arm with a firm hand. "He's twice your size, Silver. You won't last thirty seconds against him."

But Sil only laughs and gently pries his fingers from her arm. "What little faith you have in me, Finnick Odair."

She winks and flounces off to join Brutus across the room. He stares after her, sighs, and wonders if he's going to have to carry her back to her room after this. It's not even lunch yet and she's already making trouble.

The scene on the wrestling mats is easily catching the attention of the rest of the room. The sight of Silver Lamprey Cornelius kicking off her shoes and throwing her hair up as she joins Brutus has the rest of the Victors congregating around them. Finnick joins in, standing beside Katniss and Peeta with a dark look on his face.

To say that he's worried is only partially true. He's also angry at Brutus, angry at himself, and angry at Sil for being so stupid. What does she think she's doing, anyway? She's going to completely embarrass herself and be the laughing stock of the room. It's clear that everyone thinks so, too. Johanna is nudging Chaff with a wide smirk, and the other Victors look on with doubtful expressions. Then there are the careers, who are already chuckling to themselves as if Brutus has already won.

Of course the moment the match begins, everything seems to change dramatically. Considering how Sil is, said change would  _have_  to be a dramatic one.

Brutus takes the first swing. Sil ducks so rapidly that some of her hair falls from her bun. She spins around him and watches as he stumbles forward, having not expected the quickness of her movement. He whips around and stares at her, his eyebrows creased as he puzzles out this sudden litheness. Still, it's too early to be galled by it, and the next swing he takes is tighter, directed at her abdomen.

Finnick watches with baited breath as Sil jumps back at the very last second, twirling so quickly that Brutus once again stumbles. He catches himself more easily this time, growing used to the push and pull of this match, and sneers.

"Too afraid to fight me properly, Cornelius?" he drawls, stalking forward a few steps. Sil just smiles a very secretive looking smile and raises an eyebrow. Not only does she answer him, but she does so in a purely physical way. There are no dramatic laughs or pet names today. Instead, the moment Brutus gets close enough, Sil goes for an upper cut aimed at his face. It's deceptively sloppy, serving only as a distraction – one that Brutus falls for immediately. The moment his attention it directed up, Sil darts her leg out to sweep him off balance, kicking the back of his ankles and watching in amusement as Brutus tumbles right to the floor.

She's on him in a second, like a bird of prey falling from the sky. Her movements are firm and no nonsense, as if she's done this a thousand times. There is no fear in her eyes. Only burning confidence and something darker, something that makes Finnick stare in open mouthed shock.

Her hands clench around Brutus's neck, body pinning him to the mats with a strength that he's obviously not expecting, because he thrashes rather helplessly beneath her. It's a shocking sight considering how much larger Brutus is compared to Sil's dainty form, but she manages to use her momentum to hold him down until the trainer blows the whistle and gives the victory to her. Everyone looks utterly astounded.

The smirks and doubtful looks have been replaced with gaping surprise. Eyes wide, the other Victors stare at her as she gets up and takes a few quick steps back. She nods at the trainer and, with one heavy glance at Brutus, Sil steps off the mats and walks barefoot to where she'd kicked her shoes off only minutes before. And it really has been mere minutes, perhaps not even that long, since the match had begun. Sil, the stupid, unlikely Victor, has somehow managed to take down one of the strongest careers in a matter of moments. Something is clearly amiss with this picture, and Finnick intends to find out what it is.

Sil doesn't get very far before Gloss steps up to her, blocking Finnick. She curiously turns to her district partner with that same flat look. Gloss seems to be asking her for a fight as well, probably to see if Brutus has made some kind of stupid mistake. But Sil only shrugs and responds, "Oh, not today, darling. I'm  _dreadfully_  tired!" And she flounces away before anyone else can stop her.

Finnick stalls for only a moment, lingering near Katniss and Peeta with a solemn look on his face. Katniss seems to notice this and raises an eyebrow.

"Even  _you_  didn't know she could do that?" she asks incredulously. There's something in her voice, something that almost sounds like begrudging pride. Sil's little performance did one thing, at least, and that is to get Katniss to notice her for more than her flamboyant personality.

Finnick chuckles humorlessly and retorts, "I'm beginning to suspect that there's a lot I don't know."

He heads to the doors of the training center, not looking back at the two young Victors. As he pushes the doors open, he takes a moment to search for the silly blonde Victor he's gotten to know so well over the last few months. Sil is lingering by the drink machine with a peculiar look on her face. Her arms are crossed and she's leaning on one leg, eyeing the drinks disdainfully, as if she's in the middle of some barbaric prison. He thinks back to her beautiful house in District 1 and decides that the analogy isn't very far from the mark.

When she sees him approach, Sil tilts her head to the side. "Come to check on my injuries?" she inquires, then raises an eyebrow in challenge. "You'll be shocked to know that I'm perfectly fine." She returns her attention to the vending machine with a baleful gaze.

Finnick stares at her for a moment before leaning against the machine and peering down at her hands. She's right: she doesn't have a scratch on her. If anything, she's better now than she was going in. But it just doesn't add up.

"Why do I get the feeling that you're not telling me something?" he slowly asks, sliding his hands into his pockets. His eyes return to her face, just in time to clash with hers. They stare at each other for a long moment, before Sil raises an eyebrow and looks back at the selection before her. She finally decides on one, and pushes the button.

As the red drink is pushed to the bottom of the vending machine, Sil drawls, "Dear me. Am I under inspection now? All I did was have a little sparring match."

Finnick stares in shock and insists, "Yeah, a sparring match against  _Brutus_  that lasted less than a  _minute!_  What's going on, Silver? Why didn't you tell me you could do that?"

She uncorks the bottle thoughtfully. Well. If this is Finnick's reaction to her unknown sparring abilities, she can only imagine what he'll say when he finds out the real truth of her. She peers up at him sullenly. The thought makes her blanch.

"Honestly, Finnick," she says, "it just never came up. I'm a  _Victor,_  darling. I can handle myself if I have to."

He watches her take a sip of the drink. She makes a face and her upturned nose wrinkles in disgust. The sight takes him off guard for an entirely different reason. How could someone as delicate as her have a ruthless side? It's so easy to forget that she's a Victor, that she has the same nightmares as him. The memory of the scar along the back of her thigh rushes through him. Clearly there's more to Sil than meets the eye. The question is, what is it?

"Fight me," he suddenly blurts out, not really thinking about the words before they appear. He's just as surprised as she appears to be at the suggestion, but he doesn't back down or retract the statement. If she can defeat Brutus so effortlessly, then he's willing to bet that she'd hold her own against him. But Sil looks positively mortified at the mere thought. He's not sure if he feels offended about that.

"I couldn't possibly – it was only luck, darling," she says, changing tactics so quickly that he's left reeling in confusion. She couldn't possibly what? And what she did out there was more than mere luck. She'd fought Brutus with a confidence that made it clear she'd sparred a million times before.

He steps closer, crowding into her personal space. "Fight me, Silver. Show me what you can do." This time, he says it more hoarsely, voice barely above a whisper. He not only wants her to fight him; he seems to want something else too. Neither of them knows what it is, only that it's a burning need which scratches at the back of his throat.

She stares up at him with wide eyes. Something in them makes them flash, like they're glowing almost – a certain streak of intelligence that Finnick has never noticed before. When she doesn't answer, Finnick frowns. He's a little bit concerned, a little bit annoyed.

"What's wrong?" he asks, and she sighs.

"Do you dislike me, Finnick?" she suddenly asks, seemingly out of the blue. It's such a random question that both of Finnick's eyebrows shoot up into his hairline and he stares at her in surprise.  _Dislike_  her? Whatever gave her that idea? Perhaps, in the beginning before he'd gotten to know her, he hadn't really liked her all that much. But the last few months of being in close proximity to her has given him something to think about. And the last few weeks…well, dislike is probably the  _last_  word he would use to describe the tumultuous emotions that sweep through him whenever she's nearby. Not that he'll ever admit that he feels anything besides patronizing amusement towards the silly socialite, of course. She's Silver Lamprey Cornelius, and he still thinks she's ridiculous and sometimes even idiotic at times. But dislike her? No. That is not the word he would use.

"…No," he says honestly, curious as to where this is coming from. Has he given her reason to believe such a thing? Sure, he teases her regularly and she often exasperates him with her personality, but those are not reasons to think that he dislikes her. Still, the question seems serious, and Sil is rarely ever serious. To see her expression set in such determined silence makes him uncomfortable. He doesn't know what to expect.

"Don't you?" she wonders, sounding surprised by this notion. She tilts her head, as if studying him in a different light, and then hums. With that serious expression lighting up her eyes, Sil murmurs, "Well, you will soon enough."

And without explaining that thoroughly confusing statement, Sil strides to the elevators and leaves him feeling stranded in the middle of the hall, as if he's treading water above a den of sharks.


	20. To you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Tuesday update!
> 
> In which Finnick comes to some surprising revelations, Snow gets one step closer to realizing who the Sterling Nightingale is, and Gemma Cornelius is backed into a corner.
> 
> Without further ado, please enjoy!

  **Chapter Twenty | To you**

" _We but name the Scarlet Pimpernel, and every fair cheek is suffused with a blush of enthusiasm. None have seen him save his faithful lieutenants. We know not if he be tall or short, fair or dark, handsome or ill-formed; but we know that he is the bravest gentleman in all the world, and we all feel a little proud, Monsieur, when we remember that he is an Englishman." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

No matter what he does to distract himself, Finnick can think of nothing but Sil's match with Brutus for the next day. The initial interviews fly by quickly, and Sil seems to have reverted back to her flamboyant self in a matter of hours. When he sees her again later that evening, she's dressed to the nines in a gown that shimmers every time she moves, as if she's been rolling around in fairy dust. Still, despite her ridiculous mannerisms and smiles, there's something different about her. He's not sure if it's just his perception of her that's changed, or if she's acting differently. But she seems less dramatic than usual, and Finnick finds himself worrying about her just a bit.

Her interview is the very first, and as always Sil is a very difficult act to follow. She wows the crowds with her posh accent and her silly stories, appears to be on a first name basis with Flickerman, and even gives him fashion advice when she mentions how daring he would look in one of those  _new vogue_  cravats. ("Gigi's has three dozen styles, darling!")

But the moment she steps off the stage, she loses the edge of her smile and her eyes don't sparkle quite as much. It must be the Games, he thinks, shuffling forward as the line moves up, but something tells him he is wrong.

It's only later, after dinner, that Finnick rather accidentally stumbles upon something which might explain certain things to him. He comes across it on a whim. Boredom and the fear of where his dreams might take him keep him up far longer than the rest of his entourage. He watches reruns of the Reapings and ends up replaying the District 1 clips because he's confused with the way Sil acts in them. Its fear, he thinks, that curbs her dramatic spirit. It must be, and that doesn't surprise him. But he's confused at the stunt she pulled during training. The way she had so easily beat Brutus, as if he had been nothing more than an inconvenience.

That's about the time when Finnick notices that the tapes from previous Games are currently available. He stares at them for a while, lingering on the 65th Games and the image of himself as a fourteen year old boy. His younger face grins back, worry free and ignorant to the horrors that would soon corrupt it. That's when he sees Sil.

A gaunt sixteen year old girl blinks at the camera. She looks nothing like she does today. No frilly gowns or sparkly lipstick. The expression on her face perfectly matches the expression that most new Victors have – hollow and blank, like a winter canvas. There is a darkness in her eyes that Finnick hasn't seen before. Either Sil has somehow numbed down that particular blend of fearful pain, or she's better at hiding it than he could have ever imagined.

He's not sure why he presses 'play'. He's not sure what he expects to see. To be honest, the Silver Lamprey Cornelius that glowers and jumps at every sound unnerves him. She isn't the Sil that he knows, but this was seven years ago. There's bound to be some core differences to the two versions of her. No one leaves the Games as the same person that goes into them. Still…something collides within him at the sight of her, like he's staring at a puzzle piece but just can't figure out where the rest of the puzzle is. He feels that this is important, but he doesn't know why.

The 68th Hunger Games is a deserted prison of cacti and scorching sun. He doesn't recall watching it – he would've remembered a terrain like this. It's the perfect Games for someone like Sil, who is used to the dry heat of District 1 and the long stretches of sand. Water is impossible to find, but she knows exactly where to look. She has an advantage that none of the others have.

She also has a disadvantage. It seems that even as a sixteen year old, the name Cornelius carries a lot of weight. Her family's fame and fortune does not go unnoticed by the rest of the tributes. Grudges are conceived early on, and even the other Careers don't take her very seriously. They call her 'moneybags' and glare at her whenever she turns away.

"We need water," a Career from District 2 bemoans on the morning of the second day. Sil's 12 year old district partner, a slight boy named Royce, shifts a little and opens his mouth, but Sil grabs his hand and twists hard. He whimpers and she sends him a narrowed look.

"What's wrong with you?" the Career demands suspiciously, "Got something to say?"

Royce blushes beneath the attention and ducks his head. "I was…just thinking we should find cover from this sun…that's all." He glares at Sil out of the corner of his eye.

The Career scoffs and rolls his eyes, spinning the barbed spear he had grabbed from the cornucopia the day before. "We've got a useless pair of District 1 tributes this year. Don't know why we don't just skewer them right now." He eyes Royce like he's a slab of meat, and Sil leans back with a snort. The noise immediately takes the attention off the younger boy, who breathes a sigh of relief.

"Something funny, moneybags? Wish your daddy was here?" There's a collection of guffawing laughter that Sil brushes aside.

With gleaming eyes, she says, "You must be completely ignorant. Don't you know that District 1 is a desert? Are you going to kill the only two people who might actually know how to survive in this wasteland?" She smirks, leans forward, and drawls, "Don't know what I expected from a brainless oaf from District 2."

The other Careers immediately jeer and laugh at the insult. One of them has to hold the boy from 2 back as he jumps up to throttle her.

"She's got a bit more fire than we thought," one of them crows, nudging the insulted boy. "Alright, moneybags, how'd you figure we find water? Since you apparently know everything."

The group settles down. The younger Sil smiles a strange, daring smile and shrugs, "I can find signs of it. And if that doesn't work, we have my sponsors." After a bit of arguing, they clamor up and grumble out their agreements.

It's a fairly normal group of Careers. There's the leader from 2, there's the followers, and there's Sil. Every group needs someone to pick on, and she's that person. She's also a lot smarter than Finnick gives her credit for, because by the next day, it's clear that she's playing them all.

She leads them in search of water, weaving some ridiculous tale about mirages and water holes. Everyone is dehydrated except for her and Royce, who sneak out at night and tap into nearby cacti, which are filled with the precious substance that the group is searching for.

"Shouldn't we tell the others where the water is?" Royce whispers to her one night as they hide their tracks in the sand. Sil just blinks at him and ruthlessly says, "If we tell them, they won't need us anymore. Do you want them to kill you?" After that, the younger boy seems more content to play it her way, which is smart as well as stupid. Careers aren't known for their patience.

"You're leading us in circles!" one of them accuses her later that afternoon. "If you don't find water, we're all gonna die."

"Maybe that's her plan, maybe she wants us to die – "

"Don't be ridiculous," Sil counters with a glare. "Finding water is tricky in the desert. At least we can rely on my sponsors to send us things." It's true, and Finnick knows that this is the main reason the others don't just kill her in her sleep. Sil has a plethora of willing sponsors who have thus far sent food, canisters of water, and healing ointments. It's the only reason the career pack is even alive still. They are banking on her sponsors just as much as she is.

But their impatience grows as the hours dwindle, and time is running out. He watches with reserved understanding as Royce is killed that very night. Snakebite. Who knew there were such vicious snakes in the desert? The one that sinks its teeth into Royce's ankle is all black with little red diamonds cascading over its skin. Royce, who gets paler and weaker by the hour, soon becomes a very useless link.

The Careers kill him while Sil sleeps. She wakes up right as the life washes from the young boy's eyes, and fury catches her between its claws. "You didn't have to kill him!"

The leader sneers at her. "He wouldn't have made it through the night, moneybags. We did him a favor."

As harsh as it sounds, the boy from 2 is right and Sil seems to know it. She deflates, stares at her dead district partner, and shudders when a cold desert wind thrashes through their small camp. Finnick is left wondering if Sil has nightmares of this moment. Does she see those dead eyes in her dreams? Is she haunted by the sight of that young twelve year old boy when she closes her eyes? Finnick can still remember the youthful face of his district partner. Ten years hasn't clouded her features, nor has it dulled the sight of her painful death.

That night, Sil leaves.

He doesn't know what he expects when she gets up and brushes the sand from her clothes. The moment she steps out of the circle of their firelight, he watches with a furrowed brow as she disappears. Surely she doesn't actually think she can survive on her own? But she has, he reminds himself. She's alive right now, sleeping three floors down. She doesn't perish in this desert hell. For some reason, it's difficult to fathom. He wouldn't have lasted a day in this arena, with only a sea of sand to greet him. Even the sight of the desert surrounding the Cornelius mansion had galled him into firm discomfort. Yet Sil survives.

She does more than survive. She uses something Finnick never thought she had to trick every one of the Careers into their untimely death. She uses intelligence.

It's no secret that everyone assumes Sil is an airhead. These days, it seems that she pays more attention to her dresses than anything remotely important. But the Sil in the 68th Hunger Games is not an airhead at all. She's actually quite brilliant.

As he watches her poison the Career's remaining water supply with snake venom and attach thin wires around their camp, Finnick thinks back to the words Gemma had said all those days ago in District 1.

They come uninvited into his head, like wisps of sound that echo through his thoughts, over and over and over again -  _"Sil decided to forgo her formal education in favor of gossip and parties…Silver is fluent in two Old Languages…sole proprietor of the estate for several years…_ "

But what does it mean? Why doesn't she showcase this side of her? This beautiful, intelligent side that so easily takes down half the Career pack in a single night? The side that defeats Brutus as effortlessly as breathing? Has she forgotten herself? Are the dramatic, gossipy parts of her personality just facets of a greater whole, or is she merely trying to forget the horrors of her Games by shedding every part of her that is a reminder?

His mind is spinning as he watches her receive another gift from a sponsor. He's never thought of her as a hunter, but here she is, hunting the remaining tributes. She's painted her skin with dust and sand, blends in with the dunes like she's a part of them, and has already left a string of bodies behind her. She is ruthless in a way Finnick never knew.

He cannot picture Sil as someone like this. He sees her as this innocent, naïve woman who couldn't hurt a fly, yet she slits people's throats as they sleep, throws poisonous snakes into camps, and works behind the scenes to kill everything standing in the way of victory. And, Finnick realizes, he has never heard even one pet name or dramatic sigh leave her lips. She is an entirely different person.

When did those pet names become a part of her persona? They seem a natural aspect of her, and she is missing something vital without them. In her Games, she is nothing more than a girl trying to win. She is not the Silver Lamprey Cornelius she will become, who charms the Capitol with her gossipy stories and blows lighthearted, flirty kisses to every citizen who looks her way.

He's confused. He's never seen such a stark difference between the same person. And he  _knows_  that there is no way the Games change someone as much as they seem to have changed Sil. The Games don't make someone happy and flirty and gossipy. The Games make you hateful and fearful and angry. Yet unlike the other Victors, Sil is none of these things. Which leads him to the question he has been contemplating since the day they began their fake relationship: what, exactly, is Silver Lamprey Cornelius hiding?

As he watches her younger self set up brilliant traps around sand dunes and wrangle her way towards victory, he realizes something else. She wins with several injuries, but the scar she has on her thigh – the one he'd accidentally seen back in District 4 – there is no sign of it. He knows one thing, at least: she hadn't gotten it in the Games.

The secrets she keeps are tantalizingly appealing, and a burning need fills him to unravel every single one of them. He has to see the person Sil really is. He needs to  _know her._

Only, Finnick isn't entirely sure he's going to like what he finds.

* * *

The room is cold. It usually is, but President Snow rarely feels the chill. He stands by the floor length window, thrown open to let the spring breeze in, and glances at the intricate grandfather clock standing on the other side of the office. Felix is late. Naturally, Snow is in a sour mood by the time the door opens over fifteen minutes later. He doesn't like to be kept waiting.

"Apologies for the time, President," Felix says humbly as he steps into the lavish room. Mahogany floorboards, darkened by the evening's pallor into a blackish tint, greets him as he closes the door. He hurriedly says, "I believe I've found something to make it worth your while."

He tosses something onto Snow's large desk and idles there for a moment as the president slowly turns toward him. Felix does not bow beneath the gaze as so many others would. They are, and have always been, on the same page. That is one of the reasons why Felix has ascended so high into the Peacekeeper ranks. He understands Snow. He understands him because they share the same penchant for darkness.

Snow's eyes drift to the delicate metal laying on his paperwork. One gray eyebrow shoots up at the sight of the expensive piece of jewelry.

"What a surprise," he drawls, walking to his desk and sitting down. He lifts the bracelet up to his face with a musing expression, and chuckles. It is not a kind laugh. "Correct me if I'm wrong, Felix, but I believe this is one of the pieces created by the retired – "

"Mr. Gemma Cornelius," Felix eagerly cuts in, then steps back as he realizes the rudeness of his actions. One does not interrupt the president of Panem, after all. But Snow looks far too pleased to be upset tonight, and he merely tilts his head.

"Right you are," Snow agrees as he examines every carefully constructed golden link. It is truly a masterful piece, swirling with not only gold, but also silver and one other darker metal. The three colors swirl around each other as if they are braided, and little drops of sky blue topaz splatter the piece as rain might drip from the sky. Only one jeweler could have created it, which is made even more apparent when Snow catches sight of the delicate tag that hangs near one of the topaz drops. It's a small little golden oval, and on it is stamped the Cornelius family crest – the same crest that is used on every piece of jewelry that Gemma Cornelius has ever made, in order to set him aside from other artisan jewelers.

"And have you traced it to its source?" Snow wonders lightly, but the tone is deceptive. No one would ever describe their president as being light, Felix most of all.

Clearing his throat, Felix pushes back on his heels and murmurs, "We have…come to a roadblock, as it were. But I've no doubt these pieces of jewelry are being used to fund the Nightingale's  _antics."_ He squeezes the word out as if it is contaminated.

The president hums and drops the bracelet onto the desk. It lands with a hard clack of metal on wood. The little topaz drops clink together like rain frozen into ice.

"No matter," Snow says after a moment of heavy silence. "We'll find him soon enough. Whoever came to possess this must be wealthy. Find out when this was made and how much it cost. It's high time we put an end to this pesky Nightingale once and for all."

Felix jumps up at the words and carefully begins, "Yes, Mr. President, but – we've already looked into that, and the bracelet seems to be custom made. It will be difficult to track – "

"Mr. Cornelius created custom made orders many times over," Snow interrupts, and Felix falls immediately silent. There is a pause, in which the grandfather clock ticks loudly behind them and the breeze blusters through the room. Then Snow rubs a finger over his jaw and says, "Still…perhaps it would be worth the time to make a trip to District 1. It's been many years since I've visited my favorite district."

Felix stands straighter and nods.

As Snow waves him off, he adds, "Oh, and Felix…keep an eye on our darling Silver, won't you? Until we've straightened this out, I want you aware of her position at all times."

At this, Felix stumbles. "…Silver, President Snow? But what could she possibly do – "

"She is Gemma Cornelius's daughter, Felix. I wouldn't underestimate her over much. That man is far more cunning than you know, and Silver is a Victor. Whether she's as stupid as she appears to be is not important. There are many different types of rebels."

Felix stares. Snow sighs. Clearly, there are all different kinds of idiots as well.

"Victors, Felix, make up their own unique population in Panem. Think about it for a moment. You just happen to discover this bracelet, which was created by Silver Lamprey Cornelius's father. There are many high end jewelers out there, yet you found an item with a clear connection to a Victor. I very much doubt that there exists a Victor who does not want the Hunger Games to fail, and my empire along with it."

"…A dangerous group," Felix mutters thoughtfully. He cannot imagine that Silver is actually behind this, but according to Snow, anything is possible. He meets his president's eyes with a stout nod, and Snow raises his brows at him.

"Keep an eye on her," Snow orders. Felix gives a nod and takes his leave.

The cold spring breeze seems to get colder as the door closes shut, and President Snow lifts the bracelet once more with a musing expression on his face. If there are all kinds of rebels, then there are all kinds of leaders too, and Snow has never been a leader known for leniency.

* * *

The Cornelius estate truly is a world of its own. Even at night, it is lit up and wondrous. Little fairy lights twinkle from the veranda, matching the stars that sweep over the sky. The palm trees outside sway gently with the breeze. They seem to shudder as the sleek black car passes beneath them, as if they somehow know, in some strange way, that the man within it is an anomaly in this pleasant heaven.

Gemma Cornelius is usually off to bed by this hour, but the past week he has been unable to sleep. With his daughter back in the Capitol and about to enter the Games for the second time, it is really no surprise. He is plagued by an insomnia that he's sure will last for quite a while yet, and is sitting on one of the smaller verandas on the southern side of the manor when Hale suddenly appears at the door, dressed in his nightclothes and wearing a haphazardly tied robe.

"Mr. Cornelius," Hale says with a relieved sigh. He's looks a little out of breath, as if he's been around the entire manor in search of him. Gemma raises a curious brow and leans back on the wicker chair he's been occupying. He puts his mug of steaming black tea on the small round table beside him.

"What is it, Hale?" Gemma asks. He's slightly concerned. This is a rather strange night, it seems, and Hale rarely looks so out of sorts. The Head of House is always pristinely put together at any hour.

"It's the door, sir – the president is here to see you." Hale takes a steady breath and further explains, "He's waiting in the sitting room by the foyer."

The moment Gemma hears the word 'president', he stands up.

"President Snow? What on earth is President Snow doing in my estate at this time of night?"

Hale doesn't have an answer for him. The butler just pauses, then shrugs helplessly in a manner that would be rather humorous had the situation been different. But as it is, there is nothing even remotely amusing about having the president of Panem giving him a late night visit. Nothing good ever comes from such a thing.

"Alright," Gemma says after a few seconds of contemplating silence. "Bring some tea. And don't wake any of the others. There's no need to burden anyone else with this meeting."

Hale nods hastily and disappears, then reappears moments later to take Gemma's mug from the table. As he glances at his employer, Hale murmurs, "Shall I bring you some clothes?"

Gemma waves him off. "I doubt the president expects me to dress up for him at this unexpected hour. No – just tea, Hale, and that's all."

Hale nods and this time, he does disappear. Gemma sighs once the butler is gone and shakes his head. What, he wonders, would the president of Panem have to say to him? Unfortunately, he already has a pretty good idea as to what it is. But the Cornelius family has always been good at putting on a mask, and that is exactly what Gemma does as he makes his way down the dark corridor towards the foyer.

"Ah…Mr. Cornelius," Snow greets from the couch as Gemma enters the room. Hale must have turned on the lamps, because the room is awash with soft color. The scene would be very peaceful, if the president of Panem isn't standing in the center of it. Indeed, this particular sitting room is one of the finer ones of the estate. Close as is it to the foyer, it is where most guests are brought to immediately upon entering. Sil had put up a pale blue chinoiserie wallpaper several years ago, and the sight is still bright and pleasant even in the shadows of the night.

"This is a lovely room," Snow comments as Gemma takes a seat opposite him. The president doesn't seem to notice the fact that Gemma is severely underdressed compared to himself. Where Snow is wearing a crisp black suit, Gemma wears his striped pajamas and woolen socks. However, Gemma looks right at home and completely at ease as he leans back and blinks at the president. Power plays, whether intentional or not, don't work so easily on him.

"Thank you," Gemma graciously nods, peering around the walls. "Silver excels in her art. She's decorated half the mansion, at least." Those were the days directly after her Games, when she'd come home searching for a distraction – anything to take her mind away from the horrors she had witnessed in the arena. She had quickly turned to painting to get her terrors out, and had spent weeks in different rooms, turning various walls into elaborate murals. He had helped her in what ways he could. She got her artistic talents from him, after all. His strengths lay in metalwork, but put a paintbrush in his hand and Gemma could paint something equally as magical.

This had been one of the first rooms she'd done. Three of the walls are done up with the blue flowery wallpaper, but the forth is washed over with a handpainted scene depicting frosted mountains and eagles flying around their peaks. As she had worked her way down the corridors toward the southern wing, her paintings had grown darker and darker, until at last Gemma took her into his workroom and began to teach her his craft in depth. They would spend hours together in that little room, linking tiny chains together and smelting metal into beautiful works of art. To say he is proud of his daughter is an understatement, but it is not only because of her likeness to him. It is because of her quiet strength. Her ability to never allow her nightmares to control her.

"Indeed?" Snow wonders, though he doesn't appear to be very interested in learning more about Sil's artwork. Gemma smiles blandly and waits to hear what he  _is_  interested in. He doesn't have to wait long.

"I do apologize for such an impromptu visit," Snow says. "My schedule is very busy during the Games season, and this was the only time I was able to come. You see, I found something that I believe belongs to you."

A piece of jewelry that Gemma has never before seen is laid out in front of him. He pauses, then shuffles forward to pluck the lovely little bracelet off the coffee table. With a discerning eye, Gemma tilts it in the light. Yes, it looks exactly like his pieces. The metalwork is very precise, done in such a way that is very unique to him, and the little oval tag has the Cornelius crest stamped onto it is customary to anything that leaves his workroom. But Gemma doesn't remember ever creating this particular bracelet. He rarely works with topaz. His clients, back when he'd had them, had been more interested in the very expensive gems. Diamonds, rubies, pure cut sapphires…but rarely ever topaz. But he knows that his daughter loves to work with them. Especially the ones that are sky blue in color.

"It has come to my attention that your jewelry is being used to fund certain…key players in what is turning out to be a very upsetting little rebellion," Snow explains, eyes sharp as he watches Gemma inspect the bracelet.

Gemma glances up with a raised brow and wonders, "Key players?"

"I'm sure you've heard of the Sterling Nightingale."

Inside, Gemma freezes. But outside, his face remains tired and confused. His jewelry is being used to keep the Nightingale active? As preposterous as it sounds, some part of him finds the news somewhat old. He has a feeling that Snow's got it wrong. These gems aren't being used to fund a single person; they're being used to fund an entire  _group_  of people.

"…Ah," Gemma murmurs belatedly. "Surely you don't believe that I have something to do with this?"

Snow smiles. "I would certainly hope not," he responds, and adds, "And I would also hope that your daughter isn't planning on following in her mother's footsteps."

Her mother. Mrs. Cornelius. Deceased. Taken to the Capitol directly after Sil's Games and executed for rebellious crimes against Panem. Or, at least that's what everyone was told. In truth, her rebellious crime had been an innocent desire to provide a citizen of District 1 with shelter. Whether or not she had known that said citizen was in fact a rebel remains a mystery, but she paid for her generosity with her life.

Gemma purses his mouth. "Believe me, Mr. President, my late wife's memory holds no sway over Silver. You can be rest assured that no notion of rebellion has ever crossed that silly head of hers."

Snow hums. A dark smile tilts his mouth upward, and Gemma lays the bracelet down onto the table.

"As for this," he lies, "I no longer keep records of past business transactions. It is certainly a piece that I have created, but I assure you that there were no underhanded tactics in its creation. You'll receive no trouble from either myself or my daughter."

It is a lie, but what can he say? That he had not created this bracelet? Snow doesn't appear to be aware that Sil has also learned his craft. He doesn't seem to know that his daughter is just as likely to have created it as Gemma himself. Indeed, Gemma knows his daughter's work when he sees it. He had, after all, taught her everything he knows, and he can see her signature all over this piece of jewelry, from the technique she'd used to twist the strands of metal to the choice of gemstone.

But funding the rebellion? He is not sure he's surprised, but he has no intention of letting Snow see his suspicions. Silver has always been a spitfire, and after her mother was brought to the Capitol, her life seemed to have changed in its entirety. No longer was she intelligent and studious. Instead, she layered masks upon masks over her persona, and Gemma knows that she would not have done this unless she is in the middle of something very rebellious indeed. Some part of him has always known this, only he also knows that his daughter can fend for herself. She has always been independent and obstinate.

He knows his daughter very well. He always has. And though she no doubt thinks she has fooled him, very little gets passed Gemma Cornelius.

Snow seems placated though.

"Very well. I trust that, should any information come up regarding this bracelet, you'll send word immediately," he says, and stands up.

"I will, of course," Gemma responds. He stands also, buries his hands into the pockets of his robe, and leads the president back into the foyer just as Hale comes bustling into it with a tray of tea. Snow glances at it and waves the butler away.

"No need for that. I'm on a tight schedule tonight."

Gemma nods at Hale, who backs up carefully, balancing the tray on his forearms. As Snow pulls on his woolen jacket, he glances around the large foyer with a keen eye.

"You do have a lovely home. What a fascinating family crest, as well," he says, and pushes the last button through. He stares at the crest for a moment, musing at the three snakes that wrap around the crow, and then blinks as he turns back to Gemma. "Remember what I said, Gemma. The Games season does stress me out. Who knows what I'm liable to do if put under pressure?" He gives Gemma one last glance and turns to go outside, where the sleek black car awaits. The door seems to reverberate through the quiet house like a subtle curse.

The moment the front door closes, Gemma turns to Hale and says, "Bring me the telephone. I have a call to make."

It seems that he won't be getting much sleep at all tonight.

"And I'll take that tea in my room, Hale," Gemma adds as he turns down the corridor that Sil had painted with bright red poppies. Red for the blood of innocents, spilled from Panem's infamous Capitol.


	21. And why is it that in the early mornings,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Finnick has a confusing conversation with one elder aristocrat, training continues, and Sil very nearly has a heart attack at the archery range - no thanks to Finnick.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has left reviews/kudos, they're always so appreciated! More moments between Finnick and Sil up ahead! I think you'll all appreciate it ;)

 

**Chapter Twenty One | And why is it that in the early mornings**

" _It was terrible to see a young and beautiful woman – a girl in all but name – still standing almost at the threshold of golden and fantastic dreams, which should have made her youth one long, perpetual holiday." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

Finnick is still awake when the phone blasts through the silence of the living room. Truthfully, it is a very soft sound – a twinkling of notes that warn of an incoming message – but in the blurry quiet of early morning, the suddenness of the noise makes Finnick dart up from the couch with a startled inhalation. Who would be calling at this hour?

Apprehension fills him. It's rare to get private phone calls during the Games, and his first explanation is that perhaps Snow has set up extra clients for him before he enters the arena. A sickened feeling lurches through him at the thought. Snow has his own way of contacting him regarding clients, but Finnick never has any of those during the Games…usually. He stares at the phone for a long moment before striding purposefully forward.

When he answers it with a hesitant hello, the voice that responds is none other than the father of the woman he had just been thinking about.

"Finnick. I was hoping it was you," Gemma Cornelius says. His voice crackles slightly over the connection.

How strange, that the night Finnick watches Sil's first Hunger Games, her father contacts him. Phone calls into the Capitol are a rarity in and of itself, but he's not entirely surprised that the Cornelius family has the ability to make it happen. Gemma has the money to pay the extensive bill, though that doesn't mean they are safe to speak privately. The Capitol monitors all calls, especially ones concerning their Victors.

"Gemma?" Finnick asks in confusion.

He frowns and turns, glancing behind him at the television screen. It is paused at the scene when Sil becomes a Victor. The dead look in her eye is unfathomably strange, and yet so familiar. Every Victor looks like that after their Games, but Sil is clearly not like every other Victor.

"Forgive me," Gemma says, "Yes, it's me. I do hope I didn't wake you up?"

"No, I was already awake. Watching previous Games." The brief explanation does not go over Gemma's head.

"Ah, of course. You must find Silver's Games quite confusing, don't you? She was a different person back then." Gemma chuckles, and Finnick is once more left with the odd impression that the older man knows a lot more than he is actually saying.

He'd like to ask Gemma about the questions spinning round his head. Why has Sil changed so much? Is there a specific reason? Why does she hide herself away and dumb herself down?

Instead, Finnick merely hedges, "It's definitely strange…" And he hesitates, partly because he's not sure what to say, but mostly because he does – and he's not sure it's a good conversation to have during a dubious late night call that is undoubtedly being recorded.

"I know this call isn't private," Gemma says a moment later, as if reading Finnick's mind. "I didn't want to put you in this position, but suddenly I find that I have nowhere else to turn to. I fear for my daughter."

His eyebrows shoot up. "What's wrong with her? She seemed fine this morning."

Worry shoots through him and he begins to think back. Had Sil really seemed fine? Something has been off about her for days now, but the moments between her bright personality and this strange new one are only that: moments. And yet…

Watching Sil's Games have not answered any of his questions. It's only caused more to form, catapulting through those moments between her and making him wonder, in so many ways, what he's missing. Because clearly he's missing something, and he knows instinctively that it is important.

Gemma chuckles blandly. "Oh, she's perfectly fine, Finnick." Then, a calculating pause, and Gemma sighs, "I only wish she could get over what happened to her mother – she blames herself, you see. I think the Games are wearing on her."

Finnick is already out of his depth with the suddenness of this call. Now that they are on the topic of Sil's mother, he is even more so. He remembers only a brief mention of her mother in all the time he has spent with Sil. Something about rebellious activities in the Cornelius family. He wishes he could recall the exact wording that Sil had used, but his brain is fuzzy with exhaustion and confusion, and the words fall away before he can grasp them.

"…Her mother?" he asks carefully, walking back over to the couch to sit down. He's got a feeling he should get comfortable.

Far away in District 1, Gemma perks up with a smirk. His eyes twinkle mischievously as they fly over his daughter's painted bedroom to study the black birds that swoop over the ceiling.

"Oh yes," he says. "Her mother, bless her soul…she was taken to the Capitol several months before Sil won her Games. The president suspected that she was helping a small group of rebels in District 1. She was executed. I didn't even have a clue what she was up to until they came to take her away."

Finnick furrows his brow. He finds it difficult to believe that Gemma wouldn't know what his own wife was doing. Gemma seems to be aware of everything. He is eternally in the loop.

"Sil has never been quite the same since then," Gemma is saying, "That was about the time she exchanged her studies for all those parties and such things. Ghastly, if you ask me, but what can a father do except support his daughter? It seems to make her happy."

There is an indulgent sort of tone to Gemma's voice, yet something seems off. Finnick is very perceptive. Again, and not for the last time, he is struck with the suspicion that Gemma is trying to tell him something more.

"Well, you know how it goes," Gemma murmurs a moment later, sounding as if he is commiserating with the past. "Her mother adored her gowns and parties, you know." He pauses, then offhandedly adds, "Like mother, like daughter."

Finnick raises an eyebrow. Like mother, like daughter? That almost sounded like a code for something. Maybe he's over thinking. That does tend to happen when one is exhausted. But Gemma has always confused him in a way. What do people always say? You get wiser as you get older? Well, it seems to be Gemma's mantra.

"In any case, I called because I was hoping you'd continue looking after my daughter. I know, what with the Games – "

"I'll look after her," Finnick cuts in, sounding strangely determined. Of course he's going to look after Sil. According to the Capitol, they're engaged. They're…they're somehow important. He's not sure how, or why, but they are.

Gemma pauses, and slowly muses. "You can't imagine how grateful I am to hear it. She can be quite a handful. She's always gotten her fire from her mother, but you've handled yourself well so far. I wonder, out of curiosity of course, how do you deal with her when she's angry?"

It feels so strange and weirdly intrusive to be talking about Sil like this, and with her father no less. Finnick shifts a little, unsure as to where all these questions are coming from. Is this really the point of Gemma's call? To ask him to look after Sil, as he's already been doing for the last few months?

"…I've…well, I've never really seen her angry. There was only one time." The answer is belated but truthful.

But Gemma immediately laughs. "Only once?  _Dear me,_  Finnick, you clearly haven't learned to read her quite yet."

Finnick pauses and frowns, brow furrowing. He's never heard Gemma say 'dear me' before. Those have always been Sil's words.  _Sil_  says that.  _Sil_  uses her pet names.  _Sil –_

"Wait, are you saying that Sil's ridiculous speech patterns are some weird expression of her anger – "

"Well, it's quite late, Finnick," Gemma says suddenly, acting as if he hadn't heard the question at all. "Did you finish Silver's Games? They're quite extraordinary, aren't they? She can be quite cunning, when she puts her mind to it. Makes you wonder what else she's capable of." Gemma chuckles. "I suppose I should stop now. I do apologize; it's a father's duty to be proud of his daughter's accomplishments."

Gemma pauses one last time before adding, "I'm glad you've finally accepted your feelings for my daughter. She needs someone to keep her safe, especially considering what she is."

Finnick hurriedly repeats, "What she is?" He's so confused.

But Gemma only laughs and explains, "A Victor. Of course. I shall bid you goodnight, Finnick. It was truly  _enlightening_  to speak with you."

And then, before Finnick can ask what the hell Gemma is talking about, the connection dies.

He stares at the phone for several long minutes that seem to drag out into an eternity. His brain is spinning. Actually the whole room is.

Her mother was a rebel.

Silver Lamprey Cornelius died the day her mother did. In her place, the damper, foppish Sil took root.

Why?

She has intelligence. She has wit. She has strength. Why hide that all away? Why pretend to be stupid, foolish, and weak?

And  _why_  did Gemma sound like he'd been trying to tell Finnick something – something that he didn't want anyone else to hear? What is beneath that mask she wears? How far will he have to go to unravel this particular mystery?

_Who, exactly, is Silver Lamprey Cornelius?_

Mags finds him in the early light of morning. It seems that he hasn't moved since the late night telephone call. The television is still paused on Sil's face. She's wearing the Victor's crown and staring into the camera with gaunt eyes that haunt Finnick every time he looks up. As it is, when Mags enters the living quarters at quarter to six, Finnick's face is turned down into his hands and he's leaning forward on the couch, curled in on himself. It is clear that this strange version of Silver Lamprey Cornelius is not the only one who is haunted.

Finnick looks up when Mags steps in. The older woman takes one look at him and her eyes sadden. He looks horrendous. Having gotten no sleep at all, there are gray shadows beneath his eyes and his skin looks sallow and pale. There is no sign of the bronzed charmer that the Capitol knows so well. No – this is just Finnick Odair, the man that Mags has known since he was a child. Depraved, hungry, afraid.

She sits next to him silently and waits for him to unravel.

"…I don't know what to think, Mags," he whispers a few moments later, and she places a weathered hand on his shoulder. "She's an entirely different person. Look at her!"

He gestures to the haunted face that peers at them through the screen, and looks away before that gaze can pin him to the floor.

"Did you see her at training yesterday? She took Brutus down in seconds."

Mags sighs. She lifts her hands and starts gesturing in an almost nonsensical way, but Finnick understands. He always understands what she's trying to say.

"That's what I just said – she's like a different person," he says with a heavy sigh, and collapses back onto the couch. Mags huffs and shakes her head. He has misunderstood something. She gestures again.

Finnick stares at her with a raised eyebrow.

"…She  _is_  a different person," he translates. With a helpless, aggravated sigh, he mutters, "That's what I just said – "

Mags lets out a grunting noise that is meant to capture his attention. He turns to her and she waves her fingers into the shape of wings, which flutter through the air like a hummingbird's. Mags gives him a serious look, but he still doesn't understand.

Still, confusion dominates his expression. He stares at the older woman like she's got two heads. "Just what are you trying to say, Mags?"

"Ah, you two are awake, fantastic," the District 4 Escort says as she ambles into the room. Her sudden presence crashes their conversation away like waves disrupting sandy patterns on a beach, and Mags sighs.

"Breakfast is in an hour. You desperately need a shave, Finnick. It's a big day today! Let's hop to it!" the escort exclaims with a grin.

As always, the Hunger Games seem to get in the way of absolutely everything. Mags leans back as she watches Finnick run his fingers through his messy hair. He stands up a moment later, gives Mags a pained smile, and saunters off to take a shower. All thoughts of their conversation, of the epiphanies that might have taken place, meander away from him like smoke through his fingers. Mags just shakes her head and frowns.

Finnick has built this image of Sil in his head. Constructed her into this ridiculous, thoughtless Victor who couldn't possibly be the woman she actually is beneath the surface. Reconstructing his view of her will take more than a few subtle hints. Mags only hopes that when he does realize what's really going on, he won't hold it against the woman he has clearly fallen in love with. He might be able to successfully hide his feelings from the other Victors – and himself, too, it seems – but Mags sees him for what and who he is. She sees the affection he has for Sil clear as day.

Mags has been around for a long time. She knows a mask when she sees one. And she also knows what love looks like when it is blinded by ideals precariously perched, one after the other, onto a high cliff just waiting to fall.

Everything must fall eventually. The question is, will the ocean that opens up beneath that cliff welcome the crashing tempest, or blow it out to sea?

* * *

Sil is already at the training center by the time Finnick arrives, thirty minutes late. She's sitting off to the side, cross legged in front of the edible plants section. To Finnick's great surprise, Wiress and Beetee are with her.

As he approaches, he hears her rambling on about desert plants and how they never seem to showcase them during training. ("It's positively absurd, don't you think?")

He watches her for a moment, thinking back on the conversation he'd had with her father early that morning. The picture is incomplete. It always is, with her. Every time he thinks he's got her pegged, she does or says something that makes him take two steps back. Except this time, Gemma Cornelius is to blame for his confusion. As well as Mags.

He's not sure what she meant when she fluttered her fingers like that, but he puts it out of his mind because he's too exhausted to think about it. His head hurts and he knows he looks pretty awful due to his sleepless night. When Sil turns her head and sees him, her mouth drops open.

"Gracious, but you look dreadful," she says. Beetee and Wiress look his way too, but their reactions are much…well, much more subtle. Sil has never had an aptitude for subtlety, he thinks dryly.

He gives her an indulgent smile and drawls, "Thanks, sugar. Don't think anyone's ever said I look awful before."

She rolls her eyes childishly.

"Yes, I'm sure it's of great surprise to you," she retorts lightly, and turns back to the edible plants, plucking one up and holding it demurely to her nose. A moment later, she wrinkles it, and Finnick stares. The conversation with Gemma seems so far away now. Silver has her secrets. She's not what she appears. But suddenly he suspects he's been over thinking. She couldn't possibly have a rebellious bone in her body.

The week has gone so quickly, it seems. Despite it only being a matter of days since arriving in the Capitol, the important interviews are tomorrow night and the Games after that, and this delicate little Victor is about to be tossed right into them. He promised her father he'd look out for her, and he'll try, but once they enter the arena…well, all bets are off, so to speak. Looking after her will most likely be more of a burden than anything else, but he'll continue to play his part. If he doesn't, she'll be eaten alive out there.

"Silver was just telling us about her plans for after the Games," Beetee says as Finnick sits down. He gives Sil a raised look, appearing contemplative. Plutarch spoke to him about the rebellion and the plan for the Games, but surely he hadn't spoken with Sil? He can't imagine what kind of help she would be. Watching her first Games had been illuminating, but still, this is a  _rebellion_. It's on a whole different level.

"…Oh? That's assuming, of course, that you'll still be alive," he says, and almost flinches once the words are out of his mouth. It had been cruel to say. He hadn't meant for it to sound like it had. But Finnick has always been realistic. The Hunger Games are a bloodbath of death, and Plutarch made no mention of speaking with Sil about the plans. She doesn't know that the others are planning on making it to District 13. Why would she?

But Sil just laughs, eyes twinkling with something that makes him pause. Intelligence. It flashes through her gaze like lightening, before dulling back down into nonexistence, as if it had never been there to begin with. He watches her musingly.

" _Dear me,_  Finnick," she drawls, the edge of her mouth jerking up, "Don't be so dreadfully morbid all the time. I've survived the Games once before. I can certainly do it again."

Gemma words come crashing back into his mind before he can rein them in.

_Dear me, Finnick…you clearly haven't learned to read her quite yet…_

She is so confusing.

With a sigh, Finnick brushes the words away and says instead, "By the way, sugar, we should probably figure out what we're going to say at the interviews tomorrow. They're definitely going to ask about our engagement." He adds in a wink just for the hell of it, but flirting takes tremendous effort when one is exhausted and grumpy.

She seems to be aware of the weakness behind the attempt, and gives him a gentle smile. The sight of it makes him stare, rather caught off guard by the sweet expression on her face. Has she ever looked at him that way before? He decides he likes it.

With a growing smirk, Finnick edges closer to her. His thigh bumps against hers and leans over her, raising a hand to brush his knuckles over her cheekbones. She tilts her head back to watch him, eyes dropping just a little as if she is overcome by his presence. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Beetee shift uncomfortably, but his focus is primarily on Sil. He sort of wants to kiss her, and so he leans in –

But Sil just smirks and brushes her lips over his jaw, whispering, "You're acting has certainly improved, my love, but there's no need to pretend right now…unless you truly were struck by my beauty?" With a soft laugh, she adds, "I can't say I blame you."

The spell shatters. He raises an eyebrow, tries not to shiver at the contact of her mouth on his jaw, and asks in a surprisingly clear voice, "My acting has never been bad. Just what are you implying?"

To his surprise, Sil's smirk deepens. She rarely smirks. She looks suddenly smart, like she's peeled back a layer of herself without warning. It makes her look ridiculously attractive…and that scares him.

"Acting can be so tedious, darling. I recommend you don't attempt it when you're half asleep," she winks, and darts back, leaving Finnick hovering over empty space as she stands up.

He grumbles and flops back. "I bet Katniss will wake me up. Her ice queen attitude is like a bucket of cold water." He stands up too, and Sil waves him away.

As he saunters across the room toward the Girl on Fire, Sil stares after him. So many hints linger between them, yet he had not caught onto them. Idly, she wonders if he ever will, or if she will have to spell it out for him before the end arrives.

For such a perceptive man, Finnick Odair can be so blind.

"It's fascinating to watch love blossom, don't you think?" Wiress asks Beetee as they watch Sil sigh and turn to a different station with hardly even a goodbye. Beetee chuckles.

"It seems strange that neither of them notice," he replies, and turns back to the station.

Wiress shrugs. "What's obvious to those around you is most often invisible to the person it effects." Truer words have never been spoken.

* * *

The day slowly trickles by. Sil visits various stations, but stays away from anything involving weaponry. Until, of course, Katniss approaches her with a bow.

She's in the middle of painting her arm into the table when the girl from 12 glances over Sil's shoulder and says, "You're pretty good."

Sil stiffens just a little, surprised by the sudden voice and even more so at the fact that it is the Girl on Fire. With raised eyebrows, Sil looks up at Katniss and says, "Thank you."

She trails off, not quite knowing what else to say or what Katniss even wants with her. Katniss has never just come up to her and started randomly spewing words, after all. She is far too stoic for that – and besides, that's Sil's job.

Katniss doesn't seem to know what to say either. She pauses, then gestures to her bow and haltingly mutters, "…Erm. I was thinking about practicing."

This time, Sil's surprise is colored by amusement as well. Her eyebrows rise further and she hums, "Is that so?"

Katniss scowls, probably because it sounds like Sil is mocking her. "Yes," she snaps, and grumbles, "I was wondering if you wanted to join me."

Sil's immediate reaction is to turn into the foppish, dainty woman she's been pretending to be for the last seven years, but then she remembers that that attitude isn't going to help her here. Haymitch must've spoken to Katniss about allying with her, because otherwise the girl wouldn't have randomly appeared out of nowhere. This is likely to be the only chance Sil will get when it comes to Katniss, so at the last moment, she changes course…sort of. She still has appearances to keep up, after all.

With a simper, Sil replies, "I'm pleased you've finally realized what an influential friend I could be. Lead the way, darling."

She sets her paintbrush down and Katniss turns on her heel, no doubt already regretting the spur of the moment decision. But it's far too late for that, and Sil smirks as she follows Katniss to the archery range not far away. No one seems to take much notice of them, which is just as well. After the spectacle she made of Brutus the other day, she'd rather not be in the spotlight.

"Here," Katniss shoves a bow into her arms. "Try that on for size."

It's long metal, but extremely light. Sil lifts it. The weapon feels foreign in her hands. She's been trained to fight during her first Games, but the majority of training she's had came after she had won. Mr. Dorsey isn't an undercover agent for nothing, nor did Coin point her to him for no reason. The soundproof walls beneath his shop make a very good area to practice, as well as a decent place to set up camp and plan. Still…she's never learned how to use a bow. She's a little wary of it, and raises her eyebrow dryly.

"What, exactly, am I measuring?" she asks, jutting her hip out and taking a quiver of arrows that Katniss hands her. The Girl on Fire rolls her eyes.

"Your arm. Here – just let me do it," she mutters after a moment of annoyed deliberation, and steps forward to grab Sil's wrist. She pulls it out and places the bow against it, looking at the length for a moment before clucking her tongue and reaching for a different bow. This one is shorter by several inches, and a few ounces heavier.

"You're not doing this because you want to, are you?" Sil wonders with a chuckle. Katniss turns away and eyes the target across the railing with a dark look. It seems that Sil has struck her mark – a different sort of target.

Instead of responding to her question, Katniss gruffly mutters, "Fit the bow into your arm like this, and notch the arrow like this – "

"Yes, yes. Haymitch can be strangely persuasive, I suppose," Sil just says with a laugh. She takes her stance and copies Katniss, but it's clear that she's got it wrong.

Katniss glowers at her. "How do you know that this was Haymitch's idea?" she asks, glancing down at her form with a critical eye.

Sil opens her mouth to answer, but to her great surprise, someone else gets the chance first.

"Katniss, it's not exactly a secret that you're anti-social and have a severe disposition on your  _good_  days," Finnick's smooth voice cuts in. The lilt in his words makes it very clear that he is smirking. He glances at Sil and  _tsks_.

"Allow me to fix your form, sugar," he says, and steps right up behind her before she even registers his words. His body heat invades her senses – as does his scent and his touch, when he curls his fingers around her arms.

"I'm a bit curious as to why Haymitch wanted you two to be friendly, to be honest," Finnick murmurs quietly into Sil's ear. She holds her breath and tries not to think about how close he is…but it doesn't work. Ignoring Finnick Odair is about as effective as hiding from the desert sun in the middle of a safari.

He lifts her elbows up, curling his arms around hers and gently guiding her aim. His hot breath pools over her neck. He's too close. She's frozen to the spot. She can feel him pressing up against her, the hard muscles of his chest flat over her back.

His lips are by her ear, and when he softly whispers, "Breathe, sugar," Sil thinks he's being completely unfair. He sounds like sin, all low and intoxicating and sultry, as if they've spent the day in bed and he's calling her back into his arms after a short reprieve. She shudders and takes a shallow breath, trying to reign in the  _desire_  that pulses through her veins. God, but it's raw. Unfettered and wild.

Finnick brushes his mouth against her ear and chuckles lowly. It's more of a rumble than any other sound, and it makes him seem wild too.

"Let's try that again," he murmurs, shifting his leg between hers as he covers her fingers with his. At once, he has taken control of her bow, and she is so bewildered by his proximity that she allows it. She wants to ask him why his thigh is pushed against hers (and why it's never been before), but her answer comes seconds later as he gently guides her legs farther apart. She's never known herself to have a terribly dirty mind, but she'd be damned if she doesn't get filthy thoughts at this moment.

One hand drifts down to her stomach, which quivers beneath his touch. He splays his fingers over her abdomen and whispers, "Deep breath."

She breathes, feeling his hand rise with the movement of her lungs. His fingers are so hot they could burn her. They might just, she thinks, if they linger in this position any longer. But the thought of breaking his hold on her has her drowning with an agony she cannot understand. Only she knows that she has never wanted to be as close to anyone as she does to Finnick Odair.

"That's good," he whispers, and her filthy thoughts return at full force. How can she stop herself, when his voice is like sex itself? He knows the effect he has on women, but is he aware of what he's doing to her now?

His fingers drift back up, slowly tickling over her stomach before lifting off and returning to her hand. He curls his grip around her and pulls the bow back, smirking as he presses his body fully against hers. He'll pretend like it's the bow's fault and not merely the fact that he suddenly wants to turn her around and kiss her until her lips are bruised and her skin is flushed.

The arrow is released. Katniss, who has been watching everything with thinly veiled disgust, rolls her eyes and turns back to the targets. Finnick and Sil hardly even notice her. They are too wrapped up in each other…both literally, and more.

"This is beginning to feel like a romance novel," Sil whispers as she studies where the arrow is sticking out of the target. Without his help, she probably wouldn't have hit the mark so near to the bullseye on her first try.

Behind her, Finnick shifts a little, but doesn't move from his close position. His arms are still around hers, and their fingers are still entwined on the bow. His breath is still hot, his voice is still sultry, and when he speaks, Sil still wants to give into the desires that are roiling beneath her skin.

"Lucky you. Not every girl could be my flame," He murmurs, and suddenly moves his arms. She thinks with disappointment that he means to pull away, but to her great surprise, Finnick merely tosses the bow onto the mat and gathers her up against him. Still pressed to her back, he holds her in a way he's never done before. His heart is threatening to beat out of his chest, but he can't even imagine letting her go.

It's been a tumultuous day so far. What with the little sleep he's gotten and the confusing conversations he's had, all Finnick wants to do is return to District 4. On days like this, when his nightmares or his thoughts keep him up, he'd usually spend the day at the beach; sit in the sand, feel the pleasant beat of the sun warming his skin…it is home. Yet for some reason, he is feeling a similar intimacy right now, wrapped up in Sil.

"Flames tend to burn, you know," she whispers after a long moment. Her voice is shaky. She's swept up in two conflicting emotions: shock, and delight. She wishes she could say which one is more poignant, but she can't. Perhaps her shock  _is_  her delight. Perhaps she is merely being overly sentimental.

After a short moment, Finnick turns his head into hers and says throatily, "Maybe I like fire."

She pauses. The delight overcomes the shock. The rest of the training room seems to have disappeared. She cannot remember what she'd been doing minutes before. She cannot remember what she will be doing minutes later. The only thing she is aware of is the way she fits so snugly into his arms, as if they are the arms that were meant to hold her.

Yes…she's definitely getting overly sentimental, but she can't even think about stopping. She peers up at him, turning her head to catch his gaze. Perhaps she hadn't realized how close he would be; perhaps she had. It matters not. What matters is that he is suddenly  _not close enough._

She stares at him with her wide green eyes that are now half lidded with all her desires, and can't help herself from whispering, "Maybe I do too."

Kiss me, she wants to add. But she doesn't, because that is about the time when the world comes crashing back into them and the mesmerizing spell between them fractures away like splinters cracking through wood.

"Are you two finished yet?" Katniss asks impatiently as she notches another arrow. She lets it fly with hardly a glance at the target, yet it still hits bullseye with minimal effort. Sil turns quickly away and clears her throat. When Finnick takes a step back, she immediately feels lost without his warm body against hers.

"…I'll leave Sil in your capable hands," Finnick says after a few moments spent looking at the woman he'd just been holding rather provocatively. The words are slightly drawled, as if he's mocking Katniss, or perhaps even Sil, but hardly even realizes it. The minute he leaves them to their own devices, Sil deflates and releases the breath she's been holding deep within her chest.

His proximity really has done a number on her, and she's confused as to whether she feels lust or something stronger. Her one consolation is that Katniss doesn't care  _what_  she feels, and therefore doesn't bother commenting any further.

She spends fifteen more minutes with the Girl on Fire before it's clear that Katniss isn't going out of her way to accommodate her. Either the girl doubts Haymitch very much or she's still reeling with disgust after Finnick's move. Sil isn't overly concerned about the brush off. She knows that Finnick is already going to team up with them, and wherever Finnick goes, so does she. He's already said as much anyhow.

Eventually, she heads over to the knot tying station, where Mags has been sitting all afternoon. The old woman looks up and smiles warmly as Sil approaches, patting the bench beside her before delving back into the hook she's tying together. It's a lovely creation, complete with feathers that dangle down and disguise the metal.

Without anyone there to translate for her, Sil merely sits quietly and watches. Until, of course, Mags reaches for a new hook and puts it into Sil's palm silently.

The message is obvious, but Sil falters with an embarrassed, "I'm not very good at this."

Mags just waves the words away with a shake of her head. She shifts closer, leaning over to reach for a cord of leather. She takes a new hook for herself and begins to show Sil how to tie the cord around it and how to attach the feathers into place. Sil, ever the artist, catches on quickly, but her final attempt looks very sloppy in comparison. Still, she's pleased. It's good enough for actual use.

"You're a good teacher," Sil compliments, reaching for another hook. As she's hovering over the various embellishments, she happens to look up. Her eyes naturally alight on Finnick's form, and she stares for a moment too long, utterly captivated with the sight of him. He is glorious.

He's at the trident station, of course. In his element, he exudes a confidence that surpasses even his normal self assurance. He's flinging trident after trident at the target, hitting each one with deadly accuracy as if he's some kind of sea god. He's worked up quite a sweat, and Sil wonders how long he's been there. Her mind flashes back to what happened at the archery range, and she decides that Mags isn't the only good teacher around.

She leans back, feather in hand, and glances over at Mags. The old woman is smiling at her with a mischievous expression. When she glances over at Finnick, Sil immediately blushes.

How much has the old woman noticed from this station? It overlooks the rest of the training room perfectly. Had she seen Finnick's embrace at the archery range? Her blush deepens. Of course other people had seen it. This isn't exactly a private place.

But Mags just smiles wider and pats a hand over Sil's hair. The blond curtain falls down her back pristinely. Evon had insisted on using his new fangled iron on it that morning, treating her like he would treat a doll. She had humored him. Lord knows she won't be doted over for much longer.

This time, Mags doesn't draw any hearts with her fingers, but the knowing gleam in her eye tells Sil all she needs to know.

Her feelings for Finnick – perhaps, even, his feelings for her – are not as secret as they like to believe.


	22. When the sun is only a spark of fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Sil and Finnick bail on training, and their relationship takes a turn.
> 
> I'm just going to say that you will all love and hate this chapter in equal measure, and leave it at that.

 

**Chapter Twenty Two | When the sun is only a spark of fire**

" _Loved that inane fop! Whose thoughts seemed unable to soar beyond the tying of a cravat or the new cut of a coat. Bah! And yet! Vague memories that were sweet and ardent and attuned to this calm summer's evening, came wafted back to her memory, on the invisible wings of the light sea-breeze: the tie when first he worshipped her; he seemed so devoted – a very slave – and there was a certain latent intensity in that love which had fascinated her." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

The final day of training arrives too quickly for anyone's liking. It has been strangely nice, being around the other Victors. Well, perhaps that is an exaggeration. It has been nice being around Finnick and Mags. Sil supposes, in some ways, that there's nothing really strange about that, though.

The schedule for today will be grueling. Training in the afternoon, followed by the private sessions, and finally the main interviews later tonight. Sil is already exhausted just thinking about it. She decides to take a page from some of the other Victor's books and take the day off, as it were. Instead of going to training at seven in the morning, she sleeps in. When she gets up two hours later, she draws a bath.

Gloss has already left for the training center when Sil finally ambles into the kitchen, dressed in a short robe and wearing only underwear beneath. She doesn't expect there to be anyone in the District 1 suite. Of course, Finnick likes to take her by surprise whenever he can. This is how she ends up nearly breaking a glass. Nearly, because her reflexes happen to be extremely good.

She's reaching up to grab a mug from the top cabinet when Finnick's amused voice suddenly says, "Well, I can't say I don't appreciate the view."

Sil gasps. The mug slips from her hands and nearly crashes to the floor, but she twists her wrist at the very last moment and snatches it just inches from the tiles. In the process, her robe slips off her shoulder, revealing one creamy bra strap and making it quite clear (as if it wasn't already) that she is wearing very little in the way of clothing.

Meanwhile, Finnick is gaping at her. Partly because he has never seen someone move that fast, and partly because he can just about see down her robe when she leans over like that. It's mainly the latter. Who can blame him? He is a man, after all.

His mind flashes back to the way she'd felt pressed against him at the archery station. He hadn't needed to step as close as he had, or even guide her all that much. Her stance hadn't been that terrible. But he couldn't help himself; the situation had been far too tempting to pass up.

Heat curls at him, pooling in his stomach as he watches Sil straighten herself out and drag her robe back over her shoulder. He very much wants to tell her to leave it alone, but he figures she wouldn't appreciate him ogling her any more than he already is. Her cheeks are dusted a light pink when she glares at him, placing the mug safely on the counter.

"Finnick Odair – " she begins, voice etched into that threatening tone he rather finds adorable. Her nose scrunches up in telltale anger, green eyes flashing from beneath quite plain lashes. She's not wearing any make-up at all. She looks natural and utterly plain compared to the over the top outfits she usually favors. He likes this new look.

Both hands fly into the air and he takes a step back. "Woah there, sugar. No need to get your panties in a twist. You are wearing those, right?" He winks, extremely amused at the way her cheeks get darker.

" _Yes,_  I – I mean, that's absolutely none of your – what on earth are you doing here, anyway?" she splutters, drawing her robe tighter around her waist. Of course she doesn't realize that her action only makes her slender figure more pronounced, but Finnick decides to keep that information to himself.

His eyes glimmer teasingly. "Just checking up on you since you skipped training this morning."

He watches her like a hawk as she steps up to the tea kettle and turns it on, face still set in that adorable, petulant,  _blushing_  glower.

"I don't need a babysitter," she mutters, and Finnick's mouth twists up. He leans against the counter and crosses his arms.

"Never said you did. There might be another reason I'm here, but I'll only tell you if you make me a sandwich." He flutters his eyelashes dramatically.

She peers at him blankly and then shrugs. "I  _could_  make you a sandwich, but it's Wednesday, which means – "

"No red meat," Finnick quips with a laugh. Sil's mouth twitches like she's trying to hide a grin.

He lifts a hand and lists, "Let's see…one slice of cheese, no meat, no onions, and definitely no tomatoes. Am I right?" This time, her smile bleeds through, and he smirks. The light changes in his eyes, which suddenly seem a bit more predatory. He leans forward and murmurs, "I don't think you're as high maintenance as you make yourself out to be, sugar. I think you're trying to fool me."

She freezes. What did he say? Fool him? She's seconds from demanding what he means by that rather clandestine statement, but is thankfully cut off from doing so.

"I mean, who doesn't like tomatoes?" he finishes with a smirk, and she forces herself to smile at him despite the way she's absolutely reeling inside.

 _Calm down. You're talking about food preferences, not rebellions. No need to get all worried over nothing,_  she tells herself.

"How about I make some soup instead?" Sil asks breezily, tilting her head to the side. She tries not to think about how much she wants him to say yes, to eat lunch with her, to spend time with her – but she needn't worry. Finnick agrees almost immediately. His thoughts are on the same wavelength as hers, though neither knows it.

"I think there's some chicken noodle somewhere in here," Sil murmurs, opening a side cabinet and peering through the foodstuff. The kitchens are rarely used by the tributes, as meals are prepared by the Avox assigned to each floor, but there's usually plenty of snack items and small meals stored away for a moment such as this. Sil has to look all the way at the back of the cabinet, but she finally finds the soup.

When she straightens out and shuts the doors, Finnick is watching her with an odd look in his eye. She furrows her brow and leans against the counter. What's that expression about? She can't quite place the emotion behind it, but she knows somehow that it's something important. It's the softness of his eyes, she decides. The way they gently take her in.

"Here," she says, tossing him the can. He catches it smoothly and raises an eyebrow as she turns her back on him.

"Where are you going?" he wonders idly, setting the can of soup on the counter beside the mug that Sil had spectacularly caught.

She glances at him over her shoulder and calls, "If you think for one moment that I'll be eating lunch with you wearing nothing but a robe, think again darling."

He grins boyishly. "Isn't that what lovers are supposed to do? Eat lunch naked?"

His grin only widens when he sees her shoulders stiffen. Teasing her is so much fun. He can just imagine the blush that is no doubt adorning those cheeks.

"I'm not naked!" she exclaims, disappearing into a room down the hall.

Just before the door closes, Finnick teasingly calls, "Don't forget panties! I think yours are a bit twisted!" The door slams for good measure and he laughs to himself. The laughter turns more hesitant when he thinks about how easy it is to tease her. How amusing it is.

When on earth did that happen, anyway? These soft feelings that he suddenly gets whenever he sees her? It hadn't always been like this. Before, he had mocked her because it amused him. There had never been any warm feelings in his chest. So when did his amusement turn into attraction? It's all happened so suddenly and unexpectedly that he can't quite remember.

Instead of dwelling on it, he just smiles and riffles around the cabinets in search of a pot. By the time Sil returns wearing actual clothes, Finnick's in the process of cutting up chunks of bread as the soup simmers on the stovetop. He glances up at her, takes note of her outfit, and raises an eyebrow.

"Don't you know how to relax?" he asks, gesturing to his sweatpants and Henley tee. Of course, Finnick pulls the off the casual look extremely well, just like every other. He somehow manages to look irresistible even in ratty sweats. Meanwhile, Sil's idea of 'casual' is designer sweaters and the occasional pair of yoga pants, which is what she's wearing now.

She gives him a reproachful look and glances down at her clothes. "What? They're from Gigi's, darling."

Finnick rolls his eyes at the name of her favorite high end store. Before he'd met her, he'd had no idea what Gigi's even was.

"I thought they only sold silk dresses and tuxedos," he huffs, stirring the pot and trying not to smirk.

Sil's expression is horrified, as if he's just claimed that the sun is about to shrivel up.

"Dear me," she frets after a beat of stricken silence. "This will simply not do. We're going out this afternoon, my love, and I will open your eyes to the masterful world of Gigi's. I cannot fathom how you'd never stepped foot into the most wonderful place on earth. Why, if I could, I'd live there." She says all this with a completely serious face.

Naturally, Finnick cracks up. "Are we even allowed to go out when the Games start tomorrow?"

She sniffs. "I'm sure Snow would understand. This is Gigi's, darling. I'm not sure you're aware of its importance."

"Its importance?" he asks dryly.

She leans in and whispers, "President Snow's granddaughter shops there. As well as Linault St. Claire, Betilda Bernie,  _and_  Gerald Sauveterre." At Finnick's blank look, her eyes bulge dramatically. Inside, she's laughing, but outside, she appears perfectly scandalized. "They're famous designers!"

He rolls his eyes again and turns back to the soup. Her silly idea of what's important is obviously very different from his. Or so he thinks.

"Do you want bread with your soup?" he asks, deciding that it's probably wise to let the subject drop. Sil hardly seems to notice and reaches for the basket.

"Is it white or rye? Because I'm – "

"On a diet, right?" he asks with an amused smile. Then pauses. Since when has he thought her eating habits were charming? Or her tendency to wear expensive casual clothing or her ability to remember the names of designers that he's never even heard of?

…Should he be worried about this?

Sil just nods, "Quite right." And she takes a slice before popping the end of it daintily into her mouth.

Since when has he thought of her as dainty and graceful? Since when has he even noticed? He decides he should definitely be worried. Except, for some reason, he's not. He's starting to believe that this physical attraction is turning into something much deeper.

"Water, or tea?" Sil asks as she plucks a tin from the cabinet.

Without pausing to consider, Finnick says, "Tea."

"Cream with two sugars," Sil nods, as if she's got him pegged. He's surprised, because she's completely right. Cream and two sugars. Extra sweet. Just like the feelings that are fluttering around in his stomach at the thought of her knowing him as well as she does.

He should definitely be worried, but instead all he feels is a giddy sort of happiness that really isn't befitting for the infamous Finnick Odair.

* * *

 

Gigi's is packed, despite it being the middle of a Wednesday. It's not surprising to Sil – Gigi's is always packed – but Finnick thinks it's just plain ridiculous. The moment they walk inside, he is assaulted by the scent of perfume and a gaggle of people who look like they've never worked a day in their lives.

Fortunately, he'd been smart enough to disguise himself as well as he could, but it's difficult doing so when his face is so well known around the Capitol. And then there's Sil, who turned her nose up to the very thought of hiding herself. It had taken quite a while to convince her to wear the wide sunglasses and the hat. To his great surprise, once she'd been on board with the idea, she actually got into it, emptying her closet in search of the 'perfect disguise' and showing him all the options with a strangely amused look on her face. As they hook their arms together and head into an elevator, she looks nothing like the Victor he knows. She's oddly good at disguises.

"How many floors does this place have?" he asks idly, and then regrets it. Sil immediately launches into a description of the building, and once she gets started, it's near to impossible to stop her. She's in the process of telling him about the top floor ("Reserved for only the best of the best, you know – ") when the elevator doors open and she excitedly drags him off. It seems that the only way to stop her chattering is to present her with a mountain of clothes.

"The men's section is this way," she tells him, pulling him off towards a very extravagant aisle. Finnick, who's been around wealth for years now, is used to the colorful displays of fashion, but his humble upbringing still makes it all distinctly uncomfortable. On the other hand, Sil has been around wealth her entire life, and doesn't seem to find it strange at all.

"We should've come here ages ago!" Sil chirps happily as she delves headfirst into a rack that showcases lines of crisply colored dress shirts. Finnick leans his elbow against it and watches her. His discomfort at being in the center of this extravagant hell is rather suddenly washed away. In its place, he feels a strange sensation that could be likened to amusement, except it is light and airy like a breezy summer day. There is no hint of derision in his emotions, even when Sil plucks a plum colored shirt off the rack and holds it against his chest.

He raises an eyebrow and drawls, "Purple's not really my color, sugar." He tries not to notice the warmth of her fingers against his shoulder. He fails.

Sil hums, wrinkles her nose just a bit, and says, "Yes, you're right. Blue, I think." Like the ocean waves.

The purple shirt goes back, and she plucks an aquamarine one off the rack in its place. Stepping closer to Finnick, she holds it against him and nods as if she's just solved the world's greatest problem. Her gaze flutters up to his, and she smiles.

"Matches your eyes," she tells him with a wink. He's surprised to discover that he's been holding his breath, and lets it out with a smirk that's more mischievous than his intent. It's his natural expression when he's out of his comfort zone, and Sil always seems to manage to push him passed his boundaries in some way.

He watches carefully as she folds the shirt over her arm, smoothing out any wrinkles and peering around the store. Does she mean to buy that for him? He raises an eyebrow. To be honest, the moment she proclaimed that this would be their outing for the day, he rather expected to be the one carrying the clothes as Sil rushed around searching for the perfect sundress.

"Oh, look! Sweaters!" She powerwalks towards them.

Finnick sighs, but can't help the smile that lights up his face as he watches her.

"You planning on buying me one of everything?" Finnick wonders idly as he follows in her wake. She's already knee-deep in cable knits by the time he joins her, and has chosen a simple white sweater with carved wooden buttons and braids that are knitted up the front.

She's running her fingers over the material when she responds, "Dear me, no. But you'd look absolutely ravishing in this, Finnick my love."

He pauses, tilts his head, and says in a mock-baffled voice, "…But I look ravishing in anything." The look she sends him makes him chuckle.

"Should I ask how much it costs?" he inquires dryly. Sil starts unbuttoning the sweater with swift fingers.

"Probably not," she shrugs, and he's about to ask what she's doing when she flings it over his shoulders. His eyebrows jerk up in slight surprise.

"I'm not used to women putting clothing  _on_  me," he jokes. Looping his arms into the sweater, he's about to start buttoning it over his chest when Sil bats his hands out of the way and does it for him, fingers flying. He watches her, once again surprised but strangely pleased at the same time. They are two emotions he's been struggling with for a while now, whenever Sil is concerned.

She  _tsks_  at his words, not entirely sure she finds his joke to be all that funny. His peculiar line of work is not something she envies, and she can't imagine that it truly amuses him all that much either.

"…No jokes about  _that,_  I suppose?" he asks slowly, appearing to have caught onto her silence. She finishes with the last button and looks up at him, fingers lingering by his neck. He reaches up to clasp his hands around hers and smiles, but it looks more like a grimace than anything else.

"I suppose it isn't fair of me," she murmurs quietly, "but I can't stand to hear about what you have to go through every day."

He's shocked, this time. Her voice is so honest, so… _concerned_. Not angry, just worried. As if his troubles make her sick to think about, for the sole reason that they are a burden to him.

He moves his fingers over hers, and thinks it's odd how he's the one soothing her rather than the other way around, but he doesn't like having her worry over him. He can handle his abysmal life. He'd done so for years now, after all, and with the rebellion brewing, he's optimistic that he won't have to for much longer.

"Don't start getting emotional on me, sugar," he says with a flirty chuckle, hoping to dissipate the heavy feelings that have sprouted up in his chest at this topic of conversation.

Sil smiles and unwinds her fingers from his, instead drifting them over the sweater. She tilts her head and muses, "Absolutely ravishing." Then she chuckles as he winks, waggling his eyebrows at her dramatically.

They spend nearly an hour and a half at Gigi's, winding around the store and visiting various levels. Sil drags him to the perfume section as their last stop.

"Night Dream No. 2, please, my love," she chirps at the saleswoman, who nods and goes to retrieve a very intricate glass bottle from the shelves behind the register.

Finnick glances at her. "Night dream?"

"Mm…lavender, vanilla…oh, what was the other? Another flower, I think. Maybe jasmine." She leans against the counter, waiting.

"I hadn't realized you wore perfume," he says, rather thoughtlessly. Does it surprise him? No, not particularly. But he naturally just assumed that the scent that follows Sil around comes from her shampoo or some such thing. Sil wrinkles her nose at him as if she's offended, and he rolls his eyes.

"Night dream…why do they call perfumes such silly things?" he scoffs idly instead of apologizing. He hadn't  _meant_  to offend her. It's not  _his_  fault she takes everything at face value.

She simpers as she watches the saleswoman ring her order up. "It's  _art,_  darling." To be honest, she thinks it's rather silly, too, but she likes the scent anyhow. Finnick decides (perhaps wisely) that he isn't going to make any further comment on her views of 'art'.

He also turns a blind eye to the amount of money she spends on him. It isn't that he's being ungrateful; it's just that he knows his arguing won't make any difference. When Silver Lamprey Cornelius insists upon something, then that something is going to happen whether he likes it or not. And he doesn't particularly dislike her shopping for him. Out of all the women in Panem, she is probably the only one who can pull off a stunt like this. Because it's  _Sil,_  and for some reason, that makes all the difference.

In any case, his arms are laden with bags by the time they step back onto the main floor. All of them are his, and Sil seems content with just having her perfume. She probably goes to Gigi's at least once a week anyway, so he doubts she needs anymore clothes. From the way she talks about this place, it almost seems as if she spends more time here than in her actual apartment.

They are walking through the last few aisles when he sees it. Sil is chattering about how he should wash his new sweater ("Cold water, darling, it's  _imperative!"_ ) when his eyes randomly slide over a scarf hanging around a mannequin's neck, and he stops in his tracks. Sil doesn't realize and keeps walking, so swept up in her instructions that it takes her some moments to discover that Finnick is no longer at her side. When she turns around, he's put the bags down near the mannequin and is holding the scarf between his fingers, mouth quirked up with that lovely mischievous smile she adores so much.

"Whatever are you doing, my love?" she wonders, making her way back over to him.

"Try this on," he says, reaching for her. The look on her face is perfectly surprised. When she doesn't immediately react, Finnick steps up to brush her hair over her shoulders and flutter the scarf around her neck.

It's emerald lace. The sides are embroidered with pearls, and when he drapes it around her, the green of her eyes pop out in vivid contrast. He captures her shoulders with both hands and gently guides her to the mirror nearby. She stares at herself for one blank moment, then seems to rediscover her aptitude for fashion, and twists this way and that as she admires the accessory.

"It's lovely, Finnick, but today was for you – "

"You already bought me half the store," he dryly remarks, flashing her a grin through the mirror's reflective surface. "Let me get you something in return. Besides…it matches your ring.  _Our_  ring." The correction is hastily construed, in part because he's not sure if it really is theirs, or if this engagement belongs entirely to the Capitol.

He knows it does, of course – they wouldn't be together at all if not for Snow – but he likes to think that she wants to be with him, because there's a part of him that wants to be with her, too. It frightens him, and it's easier to come to terms with such a feeling by doing these seemingly menial things for her rather than outright admitting it.

She's completely stumped. He can see it on her face, the way her eyes twist up to his, wide and baffled. A boyish desire to shuffle his feet and take a step back reflexively pulses through him, but Finnick doesn't give into it. Instead he puts on his most dashing smirk and tries his best to ignore the undercurrent of his emotions.

Silently, Sil opens her purse and pulls out the little velvet box that contains the pearl ring that is meant to represent their unofficial engagement. Since receiving the ring from her father, she's found herself in the rather uncomfortable position of not knowing if she should be wearing it or not, considering that Finnick hadn't actually proposed to her yet. Part of her doesn't want to assume, but the other part of her – the larger part – is merely uncomfortable with the prospect of having it on her finger for the world to see.

She lifts it up between her fingers and places it against the scarf. The ring does indeed match the pearls on the scarf, so well in fact that it seems as if the two were made for each other.  _Our ring_ , he had said.  _Ours_. What a beautiful word. It makes her heart rise up within her like a sparrow searching for the sky.

Yes, a sparrow. She is not the Nightingale at this moment, but a simple songbird falling prey to the sound of the sea.

She would fall prey to it a thousand times over.

"I – " she pauses, swallows, and says, "Thank you." She cannot seem to find the words that would normally come bubbling to her lips. For once, she is silenced by the thud of her own heartbeat – and by his.

"Of course, sugar," Finnick just says, as if he isn't nearly as taken in with this moment as she is. It would have deflated her, had she not seen the warmth spilling over those sea green eyes of his.

"There's something else I wanted to ask you," he murmurs, putting his hands into his pockets. He looks at the ground, then darts his eyes back up to the ring. Silently, he reaches for it, taking it from her to hold it captive between his own fingers. She lets him, confused when he slowly murmurs, "It's not really…the best place to ask it, but we need the publicity. For sponsors." This time, he does shuffle and take a step back, but the latter movement is not due to the boyishness, but because the next moment he is sinking down to one knee.

She stares at him as if her soul is outside of her body. Suddenly she knows what this is. She knows that this is it. In the center of Gigi's, on the day before they go into the Games, Finnick Odair is officially proposing to her. That much is proven when he lifts the ring into the air between them. The pearl glistens with the light, twinkling up at her as if it possesses within its creamy depths all the secrets of the world.

But is this actually official? Does he actually mean it, or is Snow forcing his hand yet again? Forcing him to date her. Forcing him to put on airs, to pretend he loves her, to treat her like a princess because he's expected to keep up the act? Is it real? She wants to think it is – wants to believe in those warm, endearing eyes that stare up into hers – but Sil knows how easy it is to confuse a mask with reality.

People around them start staring. If they hadn't recognized them before, then they certainly do now. The attention of the entire floor is upon them, and their shields are down. Their disguises are gone. The spotlight is suddenly a burning sun that blinds her, and she's never wanted to get out of it more in her life.

Finnick reaches for her hands. His grasp is gentle and warm, the callouses of his fingertips brushing against her skin like a lullaby. Except…it doesn't feel like a lullaby. It feels like a nightmare.

"Silver…I know we haven't had much time to get to know each other. I know this isn't perfect.  _We_  aren't perfect…but will you marry me anyway?" he asks with a subtle smirk.

_Will you marry me anyway._

The old her would have been entirely unaffected by this scene. It's an act and she has her part to play too. It's always been like this, since the very beginning. Whatever this is between them has grown on a bed of wilted roses. There are thorns and gnarled roots. There are lies.

He's looking at her now like he expects her to say yes, and why wouldn't he? She's supposed to say yes. When a man gets down on his knee and presents his love with a ring, the girl naturally accepts. But when the man is Finnick Odair and he's only proposing to her because he's being forced – just like every other part of his life? She wants to laugh, because her morals are making a rather sudden appearance and they certainly have poor timing. And love? He's not proposing because he loves her. Love has never factored into it…until now. Because abruptly, like a whirlwind of sensation, she realizes something that she had not yet come to accept, not fully. Not truly.

She's in love with him.

She's in love with a man that can never love her back.

All at once, it's not about her anymore. It's about him. Snow has made him do horrifying things since his victory. He's been forced into a life of endless hotel rooms, forced to shed a piece of himself every time that door closes. Does he find himself again with the morning light, or does he continue to spiral down into that darkness over and over? Does he wear a mask like she does, protecting himself from the world around him in the only way he knows how to?

He doesn't deserve this. She doesn't deserve it. She has lied to him every day since they started this whole charade months ago. She is the rose with thorns prickling outward and roots entangled with those lies, and he is the ivy that haplessly ventured too far into her life and got caught up in the mess.

"…Silver?" Finnick asks, eyes crinkled with worry. He's still kneeling, and she's still staring at him blankly. The room is still full of whispers and gossip. The lies are still growing…

…and her heart is still shattering, piece by piece as it comes to terms with yet another fact: Finnick does not love her back. Whatever it is that he feels, whether or not he thinks he loves her, it doesn't matter. You cannot love a person who you do not know, and he has only scratched the surface of who she really is.

"I – " she starts, then trails off. She blinks down at the ring he's holding between his fingers. Finnick shifts uncomfortably. She's not sure if it's because of the hard tiled floor, or the fact that she hasn't answered him yet.

"I know it's not a standard proposal, but it's the best I can do given the circumstances," he jokes, trying to lighten the mood. It doesn't work. It only gets heavier.

It's a beautiful proposal, if only because he is behind it, and she hates it because it isn't real. She feels like she's drowning. Like she's being tossed around in the ocean again, but this time Finnick isn't the one who is saving her – he's the one pushing her under. Her heart clenches.

"…No," she whispers. No, no, no.

He stares at her in shock, watching blankly as she unwraps the emerald scarf from her neck and sinks down to his level. This isn't supposed to happen. It's all wrong.

"What?" he breathes, clenching the ring tightly. His chest feels like its splitting open. His heart batters through him, pounding out a misery that leaves him breathless and forsaken. In his current state, he can't even wonder at the reasons behind his feelings. He's doing this because they need the sponsors and because Snow wants to highlight their 'perfect relationship'. By all accounts, Sil's refusal of him shouldn't have such an intense affect.

Sil brushes her fingers over his hair. One hand travels to the grip he's got on the ring, and she covers his fingers with hers.

"I'm sorry, Finnick," she murmurs quietly. "But I can't do this to you. You deserve better. Someone with less baggage. I'm not right for you."

_I'm not who you think I am._

He laughs in disbelief. "Silver. Just say yes, for God's sake. We need the sponsors."

Her breath catches in her throat. Sponsors. Snow. Games. Are these the things they bond over? Are these the tangled thorny roots of their relationship?

"I can't," she whispers, digging her fingers into his. "You don't understand – "

"Then make me understand," he cuts in fiercely.

He hadn't expected her to say no to him. Who would say no to Finnick Odair? Definitely not someone like Silver Lamprey Cornelius, who is more concerned with being socially elite than anything else. Suddenly he feels very bitter toward her and her silly moral compass, which by all rights she shouldn't even have.

"I won't have you tied to me like this. It isn't fair for you," she tells him. "Snow has taken too much from you. I won't let him take any more."

It is a selfless set of words that surprises him very much indeed. Is she doing this for him, or for another reason entirely? Gemma's words hit him hard all of the sudden –  _Clearly you haven't learned to read her yet –_ and he grapples for a response that seems to slide away with every passing moment. Yes, Snow has taken everything from him, but in the process, he has also given something as well. Her. Or so Finnick had thought.

It hadn't started out this way. In the beginning, he had scorned her, scoffed at her, and considered her nothing more than a ridiculous excuse of a Victor. It isn't like that anymore, though. Her rejection hurts him for reasons he doesn't want to admit. Because loving her is the one thing he has not planned.

His bitterness turns into aggravation. He shouldn't feel hurt. He shouldn't want her to say yes when he knows that they will never get married anyway. District 13 awaits, and they will soon be far from Snow's influence.

"If this is for me – "

"It's not," Sil says, a little colder this time. She rocks back, pulling her body up. When she looks down into his eyes, her warm green gaze is dark with confusing intelligence and frost. The scarf flutters from her hands and onto the cool tiled floor by his feet.

"I don't want to marry you," she quietly says, just for his ears.

He's gotten too far into her life. Wrangled his way into her heart and distracted her from more important things. Rebellions don't fuel themselves.

He leans back as if he's been burned. She wants to take the words back, tell him that they are lies too – but then she'd have to admit that everything has been a lie, and that is something she cannot bring herself to do.

Instead she says, "This… _relationship_  has become a complication. We're going to die in the Games anyway. We might as well go honestly."

He stands up, slips his hands back into his pockets, and smiles tightly at her. It looks more like a grimace than a smile, and his lip curls up at the edge in the hint of a sneer. She hasn't seen that particular expression in quite a while, and it breaks her heart to have put it there herself.

"A complication? Am I distracting you from your perfect rich life?" he snidely wonders. "Is a fisherman from 4 too humble for you?"

She opens her mouth, to refute or accept his words (she does not know), but Finnick cuts her off yet again.

"Fine. But if we want to survive these Games, we're going to have to work together in the arena. I suggest you get your head on straight before tomorrow."

And with that, Finnick Odair storms out of the lobby of Gigi's, expression set in a wintry chill as people ogle at the duo from behind racks of expensive clothing.

Sil stands there in the middle of the floor for a moment before she reaches down to pluck the emerald scarf from the floor, dusts it off, and waves at a saleswoman not far away.

"Ring this up for me, would you darling?" she asks, flashing her most pompous, stupid smile yet. Her mask threatens to drown her. It is all she can do to breathe and keep her head above the water as she strides out of Gigi's wearing the emerald lace and carrying the bags Finnick left behind.

But when she gets onto the pavement, Sil's mask shatters.

She makes it to Dorsey's shop two blocks away, fighting tears as she wobbles in her four inch stilettos. When she storms inside, Mr. Dorsey is thankfully absent, and only his fat pug lifts his head to blink at her distressed entrance.

She throws the bags on the floor of the vault, scrubs her hands over her face, and in a burst of anger, rips the embroidered map of Panem from the wall, crying into the folds of District 4.

She used to only want a free Panem, but now…now she only wants him, and he is the one thing beyond her reach.


	23. And the gentle pallor of dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which the private training sessions are held, Finnick and Sil reach an understanding of sorts, and that understanding is blown out of the water during the final interviews.
> 
> Hope everyone had a nice Thanksgiving!!

 

**Chapter Twenty Three | And the gentle pallor of dawn**

" _She would not show fear. She was determined to seem unconcerned, flippant even. She wished, when the shock came, to be prepared for it, to have all her wits about her." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

Finnick reaches the training center in a cloud of foggy anger. He's still reeling from the scene at Gigi's, and all his emotions have been swept up into a storm that he can't unravel. Guilt, for putting their relationship on the spot in public. Aggravation that Sil had said no to begin with. Confusion, because he doesn't really understand why she said no at all, and also why her words had hurt him. He'll never understand how easily she can get beneath his armor. That silly socialite Victor has become someone important to him.

_I don't want to marry you…_

He pounds the district 4 button on the elevator and crumples against the wall. Has falling in love always been so hard? Is it always so frightening and so heart wrenching? Why did he have to fall for Silver Lamprey Cornelius? A union like that wouldn't have worked anyway. She's too flamboyant for him. And yet…

He loves the dramatic way she puts on airs. The way her nose wrinkles up whenever she thinks of something distasteful. The low moan that had swept through her when she had tasted hot chocolate on a chilly evening in his home district. The ease of which he could frighten her by weaving stories about monsters that do not exist.

There is a sincerity in her mannerisms; an honesty that goes beyond the normal human capacity for such truths. Unwinding those truths is the tricky part. Plucking them out and deciphering their meanings is something he has become addicted to. But maybe he should leave it alone, for now. Perhaps forever. Because there had been sincerity in her eyes when she'd said no to him, too, and that has to mean something.

He enters his suite, and runs headlong into Haymitch Abernathy.

"Hay – "

"Roof," is all he mutters, swiftly cutting him off and dragging Finnick right back onto the elevator that he only just vacated. Finnick sighs. He's tired. He still has to prepare for the final training scores and the interviews, both of which are tomorrow. He'd really like to take a nap before then and try to forget about the way his heart is still clenching at the stinging rejection it has just experienced.

Neither of them speaks until they reach the top level, and then Haymitch exits the elevator first, striding over to the edge and leaning against the railing. Finnick joins him. The Capitol buildings pulse out beneath them, like gray ants rolling over and over each other in a dizzying spiral. He's glad that he can't see Gigi's from here. He doesn't need the reminder when every thought prompts him to remember everything anyway.

"…Something happen?" Haymitch asks, brow rising in slight confusion. The older man studies Finnick carefully, no doubt taking notice of the storm brewing behind his eyes and the stiff set of his shoulders. Finnick doesn't want to talk about it, lest of all with Haymitch, the infamous drunkard from 12. But the words just pour from his lips before he can rein them in, and he blurts, "Sil…she rejected my marriage proposal."

Haymitch's eyebrow rises up even further.

"Did she?" he asks in surprise, as if the very thought of Sil saying no to him is a shock. "That's surprising, with the way she acts around you. She must have a reason."

The sharp bark of laughter that escapes Finnick has Haymitch pursing his mouth.

"A reason? She's the stupidest Victor in the Capitol. Her reason is probably because I don't fit with the rest of her wardrobe."

Haymitch snorts, but it isn't in mocking agreement. It sounds almost like he's laughing at Finnick. A few weeks ago, he would have agreed with the district 4 Victor, but now? Now, he knows the truth. Now he  _understands._

"Look, kid, I don't know much about love, but things rarely work out on the first try. Everyone's stressed out with these Games. You must've taken her by surprise." He shifts, then mutters, "I hate giving advice."

Finnick rolls his eyes. He's not some brat trying to force advice out of every adult within hearing distance, and he definitely doesn't want  _Haymitch's_  advice.

"What did you want to see me for?" Finnick asks instead, glad to be rid of the prickly subject of Sil.

Haymitch seems glad of it too. He straightens up and says, "Katniss is still being stubborn about allies, so you're gonna have to just wheedle your way in once the Games start. You're good at that, though." He smirks at the snide comment and adds, "Make sure you've got Sil with you. Coin wants her."

At this, Finnick incredulously asks, "Coin, the president of 13 and  _the_  rebel, wants Silver Lamprey Cornelius? What for? Her wallet?"

Haymitch pretends not to know. He decides that acting is pretty damn hard, and he can't imagine how Sil does it so effortlessly every single day. He feels grudging admiration toward the Victor who everyone seems to look down on.

"No, you idiot," Haymitch rolls his eyes, "her connections. She knows just about every important person in the Capitol on a first name basis."

Finnick snorts. "What makes you think Sil would agree to help a rebellion?"

At this, Haymitch shakes his head, smirking down at the streets of the Capitol. His hair falls into his knowing eyes.

"You'd be surprised what kinds of people dabble with rebellions, kid," is all he says, and brushes the topic away into deeper, heavier waters.

The bread will be the countdown. Beetee has everything planned out – make sure you get the wire from the cornucopia. When it's time, cut the trackers away and gather together. The window for escape is extremely slim.  _Stay near Katniss._

By the time Finnick returns to his room half an hour later, his mind is reeling even more. Haymitch watches him walk away with a barely perceptible frown etched over his rugged face.

"…I hope that girl knows what she's doing," he mutters to himself as he thinks back on Finnick's initial words regarding Sil, and turns back to look out into the streets of the Capitol.

He takes it back: love isn't blind. It's just plain stupid.

* * *

It feels like it's been a matter of days have transpired between the events at Gigi's and the final training session, but it's only been a matter of hours. At four o'clock, everyone is gathered together, awaiting their personal meeting with the Gamemakers. The room is near to silent, save for the hushed murmurs of various groups. Rather than congregating toward district partners, factions have been formed between the Victors. Brutus and Enobaria are mingling with Gloss. Beetee and Wiress are off by themselves, though the Victors from six are close by. Sil is alone.

She stares straight ahead: a statue in a room of movement. Inside, anticipation curls through her. This is it. The Games start tomorrow. The accumulation of all her efforts thus far will finally be answered…and she will not get to follow those answers back to District 13. Coin wants her in the Capitol, and in the Capitol she will remain. The future looks bleak…and then there is Finnick.

He's barely given her the time of day since they entered the room. It's certainly caused quite a stir among the other Victors, who have grown used to seeing them side by side. Instead, a sense of stark separation invades the space between them, and neither wants to be the one to break it.

"Is anyone sitting here?" someone asks to her right, suddenly shattering her silence into tiny breakable pieces.

Sil turns. Peeta is blinking at her, hands stuffed into the pockets of his trousers. His hair is ruffled, like he's been running his hand through it several times.

She turns away and says, "…No."

No one in their right mind would sit next to the foppish idiot from 1. No one except Peeta, apparently, because he takes her response as an invitation to claim the space and slides his lean body onto the bench.

Silence weaves over them. She notices (she can't really help it) that he glances at Katniss several times throughout the course of the next minute. He's so in love with that girl that it's almost heartbreaking. Katniss Everdeen might be the unknowing flame of the rebellion, but she's so blind to her own feelings that it's almost ridiculous. Then again, perhaps she shouldn't be the one to talk.

"You know," Sil murmurs, "I haven't the foggiest what I'm doing for my session." She sends Peeta a tiny smile and shrugs.

He looks relieved that the silence is broken, and cheerfully counters, "I'm sure you'll think of something."

She quirks an eyebrow. "Unlike you, my love, I'm first in line. I don't exactly have all the time in the world." Reclining on the bench, Sil gazes over the room with a bored expression. Her eyes naturally land on Finnick, but he's too busy talking to Mags and Johanna to notice her attention. Johanna. She knows the two of them are unlikely friends, but…does he have to put his arm around her like that? She's not jealous. Definitely not.

Peeta seems to notice where her attention is and chuckles. "I'm sure I'm not the right person to be saying this to you…but I'm pretty sure Finnick is madly in love with you. I wouldn't worry about Johanna."

Sil retreats with a jolt. Her expression settles back into boredom. Peeta is correct about one thing, at least: he's not the right person to be saying that, considering his own issues with Katniss.

With a bitter simper, Sil murmurs, "Finnick, in love with me? Where ever you got that notion, I've no idea. You know this whole thing between us is just a set up that Snow forced us into." Every Victor knows.

Peeta just shrugs nonchalantly. "Just because it started out that way doesn't mean it can't become something deeper."

It's a simple set of words, yet somehow Sil finds herself clinging to them with a desperation that surprises her. She  _wants_  Finnick to love her…but events are about to be set into motion that could very well shatter every foundation they have ever created. Can he forgive her for lying to him about her true nature? About her true feelings? About everything else she's done to him, knowingly and unknowingly, back before she truly knew him?

She is dizzy with the thought, and it eats away at her as silence once again settles between them. Even after Gloss's session ends and her name is called, she is caught between the currents of duty and desire, swept up in the musings of one heart yearning for another.

She stands as if she is in a dreamworld, face blank. There are no too-wide smiles right now. She will save those for the interviews. For now, she is nothing. Not even the Sterling Nightingale.

She is only Silver Lamprey Cornelius, and when she steps into the training room and faces the Gamemakers, she has only her natural born wit to get her through.

"You may begin," Plutarch says from the podium above. He catches Sil's eye with an imperceptible smile and she nods. She hasn't planned what she's going to do, but when she sees the wire lying innocently to the side of the room, everything clicks into place.

The wires are set up directly in front of the doors. When Brutus strides into the room twenty minutes later, he stumbles right into her trap, and within moments he is tangled in a barrage of thin wires that tighten as he struggles. The moment the doors are pushed open and Brutus unknowingly traipses right into the tangled mess, the other Victors behind him stare in open mouthed shock at the sight.

Sil has left her mark and has taken them all by surprise. She wonders just how many times she will manage to do that by the time this is all over. She smirks, tosses her hair over her shoulder, and winks at Brutus with a vengeful smile.

Then she spins on her heels and saunters out of the room, leaving a spitting Career and a group of gaping Victors behind her.

* * *

The interviews are later that night. Sil watches the scores from the private training sessions in her room while she's digging through her closet. Iridessa has come up to her room to help her, and is lining makeup brushes on the vanity. When they get her into her gown, Sil sits patiently as her stylist paints her into the glamorous woman that the Capitol knows so well.

"I want to give you a more rugged, natural look tonight," Iridessa claims, starting in on the eyeshadow with a pallet of caramel nudes. "It will go with your dress."

Sil simpers, "Mm…it certainly will."

Her dress is a very rich emerald green. Like her costume for the Parade, there are little gems sewn into it. But instead of just focusing on diamonds, there are gemstones of every sort. Rubies, amethyst, rose quartz, citrine, and so many others that are all clustered at the hem of the skirt and travel more sporadically upward. It is like a rainbow of jewels that glitter and shine every time she moves.

The gown is so unusually beautiful that Iridessa does very little in the way of eye makeup, so as to balance it all out. The only additions to her look are the tiny, flat gemstones that Iridessa sets onto her face using mascara glue. They sweep like cat wings out from her eyes, framing them in a gorgeous colorful manner. It is a look she's certainly never worn before.

"I wonder how long it will take for the rest of the Capitol to follow my example," Sil muses as Iridessa picks out a lipstick color. Her stylist chuckles, all too aware of the way her fellow Capitolites obsess over new fashion trends.

"The real question is: how much will the cost of semi-precious stones go up in the next week?" The two of them share an amused smile as Iridessa uncaps the lipstick.

"Part your lips," Iridessa says, tilting Sil's chin up. She paints the rouge on with a slender brush, painstakingly applying it with steady, practiced hands. When she is done, Sil looks at herself in the mirror and nods her head.

"Thank you, Iridessa darling," Sil graciously says, checking all angles of her gown as she turns this way and that. Her hair is half up, half down, coiled just so at her neck. With her minimal makeup, she looks strangely natural and yet not natural at all. The gemstones that flash near her eyes lend her an air of brilliance that counteracts any attempts at remaining simple.

"You're quite welcome," Iridessa returns, already beginning the process of putting the makeup away. The stylist glances at the clock and says, "Oh, you'd better get down there. You've got the first interview, after all. Don't want to be late."

Sil nods and heads to the door, thanking Iridessa one last time before disappearing with a flurry of skirts. She is the first to arrive at the lineup downstairs, and leans against the wall with a bored expression painted across her face.

The others will be there shortly, she assumes. Interviews are extremely important after all. She already has a good idea as to what Caesar will ask her tonight, and goes over her responses once more in her mind. Better to be prepared. She's in the middle of doing so when footsteps sound in the hallway.

It's Finnick. When she sees him, Sil straightens and looks away, still reeling from the rejection she had bestowed upon him in Gigi's yesterday afternoon. Had it really only been one day ago? It feels like centuries have passed them by.

Finnick pauses when he sees Sil. Perhaps it is just as well that they are alone. He stuffs his hands into his pockets and closes his fingers around the ring that's been there since yesterday. For some reason he can't bring himself to throw it away…probably because there is more to the ring than just a statement of engagement.

"Silver," he greets, face perfectly blank. Her eyes flicker over him momentarily before darting away.

"Finnick," she says back. The air between them is painfully reserved.

"You look gorgeous," he says, glancing at the gemstones around her eyes with a calm tranquility that makes her think that his compliment is rather lacking. What did she expect? For him to keep falling over his feet? This is Finnick Odair, and he doesn't make a fool of himself without reason. She can't think of a single reason as to why he'd do so now.

She clears her throat and busies herself with patting nonexistent wrinkles from her gown.

"…Thank you. So do you."

It's true, but then again Finnick looks good in virtually anything. His stylists don't have to work very hard to make him look amazing. His crisp black tux settles over his broad shoulders perfectly, and the bowtie around his neck is immaculately tied and sets off the hazel flecks she knows are in his eyes, back when he had allowed her to get close to them. That seems like a century ago, too.

He sighs. All this awkwardness isn't good for the pre-interview nerves that always roil through him before a public appearance. Even nearly a decade after his Games and a million other interviews, they're still there.

"Look, sugar," he says, leaning against the wall beside her. He glances down at her. The curve of her cheek is slanted, and the petit nose is turned to the ground. He impulsively reaches for her, tilting her jaw up with two fingers and making her look at him.

"I'm sorry for springing the question on you in public like that," Finnick quietly murmurs. "I thought it'd be good for our image. Of course I didn't actually think you'd say no."

Snow hasn't contacted him since then, so Finnick can only assume that at this point, the president isn't as concerned with their fake relationship as he'd been before. The Games are imminent. He no doubt assumes that they will be dead soon anyway, and what's the point of making a big deal out of something that isn't going to last more than a few hours? What Snow doesn't realize, of course, is that neither of them is actually going to die. He will make sure of it.

Sil deflates at his apology. She doesn't deserve it. She almost wishes he'd remain angry at her and keep scorning her, but the majority of her is blissfully happy, and the smile that comes unbidden to her lips is pure and honest. She hates this feeling of separation that has lingered between them. Finnick has become a strange but delicious constant in her life, and the thought of letting him go leaves her reeling in a different way.

"Finnick," she begins, intending on saying that he really doesn't need to apologize – it isn't him that is in the wrong, after all – but he interrupts.

"No, listen," he cuts her off. "I know this whole thing started out fake. At first I didn't want anything to do with you." He smiles wryly and shrugs, "But…I don't feel that way anymore. I guess I understand if you don't want anything to do with me – "

This time, she cuts him off, but it isn't with words. Her body slams into his, her arms thrown about his neck as she careens against him. Even in stilettos, he towers over her, and in his surprise Finnick just stands there as the woman he has unwittingly fallen for wraps herself around him. But what he revels in the most? There are no cameras; no underlying reasons for this physical contact. Just him and her, and that is all.

"I don't!" she gasps, and he stiffens. Feeling the flex of his muscles, Sil chuckles and says more calmly, "I mean, I don't not want anything to do with you."

Finnick raises an eyebrow at her and drawls, "That's extremely confusing, Sil." But even so, he splays his hands over her back and draws her closer.

Her mouth curves up into the loveliest smile he's ever seen. It isn't too wide or too fake. It's just  _her._

"Yes, I suppose it is," she mutters, nuzzling into him like a cat.

"By the way, that stunt you pulled earlier? Did you learn that in your Games?" he asks suddenly. That particular question has been burning into him since the private sessions, when he and everyone else witnessed the rather amusing sight of Brutus getting tangled in her wires. He certainly appreciated the humor that broke the stillness of the room.

Sil pauses at the question and peers up at him with a strange look in her eyes. It's almost as if she's just put a screen over her emotions, like she's tucking a part of herself away from him. He can't quite explain it, but he  _feels_  her doing it. Like her entire persona has become just a touch colder, in some unfathomable way.

Then she laughs, and it's the same old laugh he's always heard from her, except this time there's something off about it. Has there always been and he's just never noticed?

"Gracious, Finnick," she purrs, "I told you already. I was rather useless in my Games."

He frowns. How can she so easily deflect his question like that? She hasn't really answered him, not properly, yet his mind is already spinning with new questions and leaving that one forgotten. Of course he doesn't have time to pursue any more of them, because at that moment the door at the other end of the hallway opens and several other Victors step out to join the line.

Finnick glances at them and grabs Sil's arm, dragging her out of their hearing.

"Look, Sil, I know you don't want to wear this, but put it on," he says, drawing the ring from his pocket. She looks down at it with pursed lips and he sighs, grappling with her hand. As he splays her fingers, he murmurs, "It's not just an engagement ring. It's a sign, for Katniss, so that she'll know we're allies. I'm wearing one too, see?" He flashes the golden ring that she hadn't noticed he's wearing. She narrows her eyes at him, suddenly quite suspicious of the fact that the ring just so happens to be on the forth finger of his left hand, as if by accident. Knowing Finnick, nothing he does if ever an accident and she isn't fooled.

Sil bites her cheek, watching as he slides the ring onto her finger. This is all terribly ironic, she thinks. It's also terribly realistic, and that is even worse.

"…So you weren't actually proposing to me the other day," she slowly says, darting her eyes up to his. He glances up at her and swallows thickly. And her high comes crashing down. She's got to stop getting her hopes up. It's dreadfully tiresome.

"…No. Sort of. I mean – this isn't coming out right," he mutters.

Sil laughs blandly. "It's quite alright, Finnick my love. I can't imagine why you'd want to marry my anyhow. Or why Snow would order you to do so this close to the Games." She starts to pull her hands back, but he's got them in a tight grasp and drags them back to his chest.

"Silver," he murmurs, "It's true that I had other reasons, but…I…I never meant to hurt you." His courage runs out. He'd meant to say more than that. Perhaps that he actually finds that he does want something more with her, only he's not quite sure what that is. Marriage? Surely not, at least not this soon. But he can't deny that there is something in his heart that beats faster at the sight of her. Something in his veins that burns hotter when she's near. He just…can't find the words to tell her, because he doesn't even know what it is.

She pats his chest and murmurs, "That's alright, Finnick. I understand." And despite her heart saying that she doesn't, the most logical part of her does.

This relationship was built on a sham. Even though there is honesty that perforates through it, it is built upon lies. She does understand, and her heart burns all the more for it.

They fall silent, leaning against the wall together like two souls, connected but separated. She often feels this way with him. The barrier between them is hardly traceable, but Sil knows it's still there. They can never be entirely open with each other when one of them is lying through their teeth with every step.

Soon, every Victor is lined up outside the stage. Gloss grudgingly joins Sil at the front, and Finnick leaves to stand beside Mags. Sil doesn't appear to be all that nervous despite having the first interview, and when Caesar calls her name, she pushes off from the wall with a practiced smile. Her hands smooth down her skirts and she straightens her back, pristinely walking to the stage with her normal too-wide simper plastered onto her face. When the crowd sees her, the welcome is loud and raucous.

"My dear, sweet Silver," Caesar says warmly, grasping her hands and pulling her up onto the platform. She sits down on the loveseat and demurely crosses her ankles, looking out over the crowd with twinkling eyes.

"Do you notice anything different about me tonight?" Caesar asks suddenly, winking at the crowd. Sil glances over at him and tilts her head. It takes her barely a second to notice the cravat tucked stylishly around his neck. Sil beams.

"You look fabulous, Caesar darling," she compliments excitedly. "I told you as much, didn't I? The blue looks marvelous with your complexion."

Caesar chuckles and graciously accepts her words as he settles himself into his seat. "Silver, how are you holding up so far? It must be frightening, going back into the Games after all these years." He holds the mic towards her. Obviously the time for small talk is over. She's only got a few minutes, after all.

She has thought long and hard about what angle she wants to play here. Does she continue being the naïve, silly Victor that everyone knows, or does she rise up from those ashes and shroud herself in a strength that will doubtlessly shock them all? There are benefits to both choices, but she already made up her mind before she even left District 1.

With a smirk, Sil leans back and drawls, "Gracious, it's not as bad as you think. The Games this year are going to be quite… _enchanting."_

Caesar seems surprised at her response. "Indeed they will be. It will be the first time that all the Victors go in together. Which leads me to another question…" he pauses, then slowly asks, "You must be worried about your fiancé. There's only one Victor in the Hunger Games."

She wants to tell him that this isn't a question, it's an assumption, but instead Sil just artfully loses her smile and nods solemnly. Her relationship with Finnick is the best ammunition she has. The Capitol does so adore a good love story.

She turns her head down and picks at the fabric of her skirt. It doesn't help that she knows Finnick is watching her every move, listening to her every word. But surely he understands that she must use this to their advantage? He did propose to her in order to gain sponsors, after all. The thought makes a bitter smile play at the corners of her mouth.

"Finnick and I…we've been at odds lately," she finally says, piercing her eyes into Caesar's.

He nods sympathetically. "Yet you're still wearing the ring he gave you yesterday. Or tried to give you. Your rejection is all over the tabloids, you know?"

Sil touches the pearl ring idly. It feels foreign on her finger, and she feels suddenly claustrophobic – an emotion she tampers down with a frivolous laugh.

"Yes…it rather surprised me. The Games have been getting between us. I never imagined he would do something like that. I'm afraid it's all a huge misunderstanding." She chuckles blandly and Caesar smiles.

"Our President did mention a possible engagement at the Gala several weeks ago. Surely it didn't come as much of a surprise?"

Sil clears her throat, "No, not really. Only it seemed odd that Finnick would still want me despite us going into the Games together. Like you said, Caesar, only one of us will come out alive."

Caesar reaches forward and clasps Sil's hand in his. "My dear, there's no one in Panem who wouldn't want you. You are our shining star!" He pauses, tilting his head to the side, before suggesting, "Shall we bring Mr. Odair out here to clear this mess up for us?"

The crowd goes absolutely berserk, but Sil's heart threatens to pound into the floor. Once again she has managed to drag Finnick into her problems? No, surely not. But he is already striding across the stage, looking oddly determined as he steps up to the loveseat. Sil turns to him in surprise, but he doesn't allow her to voice any of it.

"Finnick, we hope you can shed some light – "

The Daydream of the Capitol interrupts Caesar in the best way possible as he takes a seat beside Sil, cups her face into his hands, and pulls her in for a kiss that shatters the entire room into  _very_  loud cheers.

Gracious.

There is something very strange about kissing someone in front of the entirety of Panem. It's alluring in a very uncomfortable way, because Sil wants to kiss him but at the same time, she doesn't particularly want it to be so public. She doesn't want him to only kiss her when he absolutely has to. But she gives into him, of course, because she can't possibly deny him when his lips are so warm and fiery against hers. She sinks into the kiss with a gasp, tugging her arms around his neck and mussing up his perfect hair. He's kissing her like the rest of the room doesn't exist, as if he's forgotten that they aren't alone. Has it always been like this? She doesn't think he's ever kissed her so readily in front of cameras before.

What has changed? So, so many things.

When he breaks away, Finnick reaches for her left hand and lifts it to his mouth, pressing a kiss against the ring on her finger before pulling an arm around her shoulders and dragging her into his side. It all makes her head spin very fast.

Caesar, naturally, looks a little shell-shocked himself. He grins and says, "Well that's one way to clear up a misunderstanding, isn't it?" The crowd screams out in agreement. (And probably quite a bit of jealousy too, considering how many Capitolites fancy themselves to be in love with Finnick.)

"Sil probably didn't want to say anything," Finnick says slowly, squeezing the petit woman closer to his side. He clasps her hand into his lap, and she grasps the fabric of his trousers with building dread. What's he going on about? She's got a feeling he's going to take them all off guard, in a way only Finnick Odair can.

Caesar raises an eyebrow and Finnick continues, glancing down at Sil with a soft smile. He kisses her temple and says, "I wasn't just officially proposing to Sil yesterday. Actually, I was asking her to marry me right then and there, before the Games. It took a bit of convincing, but…" He grins boyishly and lifts Sil's left hand, flashing their matching golden rings at the crowd with a happy chuckle.

Sil stiffens against him, and Finnick holds her tighter. She's not sure if he's trying to comfort her, or force her into submission. It's a risky move, but smart of him. The logical part of her cannot deny it. But the rest? Suddenly she finds that she is angry at him. Furious, even. He should have warned her about this. He should have told her beforehand rather than springing it upon her at the last possible moment. She folds her expression into bashful happiness, despite the fact that she rather wants to punch him in that perfect mouth of his.

Caesar's eyes pop out expressively. "Well!" he exclaims, grappling with this shocking news.

Finnick chuckles and shrugs. The movement jostles Sil, and she digs her nails into his leg because she wants him to know how annoyed she is even if she won't say anything yet. He doesn't flinch, but his hand tightens around hers in something akin to a warning.

"One or both of us is going to – well, you know, Caesar. I wanted to tie the knot officially before we went in. Now I can die knowing that I'm married to the woman who holds my heart."

The audience sighs blissfully. Sil smiles and snuggles closer to him, splaying her left hand out over Finnick's leg as if she's admiring the ring. She suddenly hates it. So much so that she could fling it into the crowd without a care. This was not what she'd signed up for when she had reluctantly agreed to date Finnick. It has gone too far, too fast, and her heart has been caught right in the middle of it. Desires and duties usually tend to get mixed up, but this is just ridiculous.

"So you got married last night? In secret?" Caesar wonders with a grin. "How romantic! It seems that we've got  _two_  pairs of star-crossed lovers in the Games this year!"

Sil giggles. "Yes. It was wonderful. I wish we had more time, of course. We would have invited you, Caesar."

"We didn't want to make it into an ordeal," Finnick says, continuing her statement. "It was just us and the judge." He lifts Sil's hand and kisses the back of it again, lingering against her skin for several drawn out moments as Caesar congratulates them eagerly.

"It's certainly shaping up to be an interesting Games this year," Caesar says after he's finished. "Let's give it up for our newest married couple!" The crowd explodes into cheering, and the two Victors stand. Sil can't get off that stage fast enough. Somehow she manages to hang back, waiting for Finnick to shake Caesar's hand, but every second is a torture too unbearable to receive.

The moment they are off the stage and back in the line, Sil wrangles her hand out of Finnick's grasp and storms off down the hall, intent on getting a few moments of peace before all the Victors have to go back out on that cursed stage. Except Finnick apparently isn't too keen on giving her peace, because he follows her.

"Sil – " he begins the moment they are out of hearing distance. She glares, whips her head around to stare at him, and wonders what  _fantastic_  explanation he will give her about this new development. But, as usual, Finnick falls silent when she needs him the most. His words die the moment his eyes lock with hers, and he falters.

" _That_  was your great idea?" she hisses, eyes flashing with a fury he's never seen. In the back of his mind, he's a tiny bit amused, but that humor is wiped away the moment Sil mutters, "A fake relationship is one thing, Finnick. But a fake  _marriage?!_  Don't you think that's going a little too far?"

He swallows thickly and attempts a laugh. It comes out strangled.

Swiping a hand through his already mussed up hair, Finnick mumbles, "Come on, Sil. It's not like we'll have to pretend for very long. This whole thing will be over soon. We'll be living the good life in – " he stops suddenly, biting down the words 'District 13'. Sil doesn't know about that. Or at least he's not aware that she does.

She raises a flippant eyebrow and pretends to be in the dark, as she's been doing for years now. It's somehow a little harder now, though. Everything is so complicated.

"Heaven? Hell? Is that what you were going to say?" she asks dryly, always pretending. What would he say if he knew just how swept up in District 13 she actually is?

"Yeah…of course," Finnick sighs, looking a little lost. "Listen, Sil, I didn't plan that out, okay? I would've told you beforehand if I had. It just hit me as I was walking onto that stage. It's the perfect ammunition. The Capitol will go stir crazy thinking we're married. We'll get a boatload of sponsors."

She huffs. "I  _tried_  not to get you swept up in my life, Finnick. Just remember that you did this to yourself."

He frowns, not quite following her. But before he can ask what she means by that (honestly, her life isn't  _that_  complicated), Sil turns on her heel and stalks back to the line sullenly.

When the interviews are over and the Victors march out onto the stage, Finnick's mind is swirling with subtle questions that just keep building. Not for the first time, he feels like he's missing something very important, and that it has everything to do with the seemingly transparent woman by his side.


	24. Casts its elusive shadows upon the earth,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Sil has another run-in with Haymitch, and Finnick takes her off guard yet again as the Victors prepare to enter the arena.
> 
> This is a shorter chapter, but the next one will be longer! They are about to enter the arena, and then things will start moving ahead a little bit faster. Also, thank you all so much for the reviews, they really mean a lot to me :)

 

**Chapter Twenty Four | Casts its elusive shadows upon the earth**

_"Her heart seemed all at once to be in complete peace, and, though it still ached with undefined longing, a vague and delicious hope soothed it as with a balm." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

The next morning is the start of the Games. Sil wakes in a daze, having gotten very little sleep. Her nightmares have returned at full force, reminding her of all her transgressions during her first Games. After waking up from them three times, she ends up tossing and turning until dawn breaks out over the Capitol.

Still dressed in her pajamas and robe, Sil ducks into the kitchen for a cup of coffee. It takes her all of five seconds to decide that these walls are making her feel extremely claustrophobic, and she returns to her room to throw on a pair of jeans and an oversized sweatshirt. When she steps back into the kitchen, hair brushed and wearing flats, the coffee is done brewing.

She takes it to the roof to watch the sunrise, leaning against the railing as the light crashes off of gray steel buildings and ricochets through the streets. As she sips her coffee, Sil wonders how something so lovely could become so horrid. It is a question she's been asking for years now, but as usual, the answer remains just beyond her grasp.

"Can't sleep?" someone suddenly asks behind her. She barely manages to swallow her coffee before spinning around, hand flying up to her heart in a show of surprise.

It's Haymitch. He too is holding a mug of what appears to be coffee, though with him one never truly knows. More than likely it's spiked with whisky, or whatever alcohol he managed to get his hands on.

"You make a wonderful sight upon first waking up," Sil dryly states, sarcasm lilting through her voice.

Haymitch grins and saunters over to her. "Believe it or not, I've heard that line many times way back when," he says with a wink. Sil wrinkles her nose in disgust.

"That was before you became the positively delightful man you are today, right?" she wonders, even more sarcastic this time. Haymitch's grin only widens.

"Let's cut to the chase," he says, changing the topic into matters that are slightly more serious. "The Games start today. Katniss still isn't impressed with you, but she knows that you and Finnick are a package deal. Just follow his lead and you'll be fine."

Sil snorts in agreement, not sure if she likes the term 'package deal' or not.

"I assume you know the plan even better than I do, considering how big of a part you've played in developing it," Haymitch says idly. He takes a sip of his coffee and glances at her, only to find that Sil has turned back to gaze at the city down below.

At first look, she really doesn't seem like a rebel at all. Fine, aristocratic features, luxurious clothing (this moment excluded, he admits), and all the mannerisms that come from an upper-class heritage. She's as far from the typical rebel as ever, on the outside. But there is a way about her, Haymitch decides. Intelligence shoots through her eyes when she isn't wearing a mask of idiocy. Deceptive cunning is intermingled with many more of those masks, and he wonders just how many of them she has…or if they are merely an extension of herself, dramatized to their full potential.

"You don't need to explain anything to me," she shrugs, sweeping her hair over one shoulder with a flourish of her wrist. "I know what I have to do."

At her words, Haymitch pauses. "…Plutarch mentioned something about your part after the Games. Coin wants you in the Capitol, huh?"

She glances at him as if this isn't a big deal at all, but he knows better. He's never thought of himself as being very courageous. Being a part of this plan is risky. Snow has ways of finding things out, after all. His only consolation is the promise of being moved to District 13 when it's all over. But Sil?

She will be stuck here, even after the rest of them escape to safety, eternally caught between the devil and the briefest glimpse of freedom. Yes, he doesn't know much about courage, but Haymitch thinks that Sil must be the most courageous of them all.

She makes a noise beneath her breath and says, "What kind of leader would take one of her best assets out of the field? I'll be safe here. Snow thinks I'm a brainless idiot just like the rest of Panem. He'll put me under watch just to be safe, but I have ways of getting information back to 13 regardless."

Haymitch scoffs, "I'm not worried about your ability to do your job, sweetheart. I'm worried that you'll end up in an early grave before you have the chance to tell Odair how you're madly in love with him. It'd be a shame, is all."

Instead of refuting the statement, Sil just sighs. "I've been lying to him for months, Haymitch. He'll never forgive me once he figures out who I really am, and how I've been hiding it from him."

Haymitch doesn't usually stoop so low (in his opinion) as to give out relationship advice. For one, he hardly thinks he's all that qualified. And two, he normally doesn't care about what happens in other people's lives. But he's also never seen Finnick Odair blown over by his own emotions for a woman – and he'd really like to be alive to see how their story ends. At this rate, he'll die of old age before they ever admit to their feelings – if the Capitol doesn't get to them first.

He shakes his head and says, "Sweetheart, let me tell you something. That boy might not outright admit it, but he's head over heels for you. If he can love you as the idiot you pretend to be, I'm pretty sure he'll be over the moon once he realizes who you actually are."

Sil blows out her cheeks and wrinkles her nose. Maybe she's over thinking things, but she isn't sure it will be that simple.

Haymitch just shrugs. "You've used up your allotted amount of advice from yours truly. Don't ask for any more."

She turns to glance at him, raising a dry eyebrow. "You count the advice you give?"

He just smirks.

"If you'll excuse me, I've got an insane Victor to wake up. If I don't make it, it probably means Katniss skewered me with an arrow."

Sil rolls her eyes, then pauses, and decides that he's probably being at least partially serious. Katniss really is a firecracker. She's grumpy nearly all the time, so it's probably even worse in the mornings.

Haymitch puts his hand on her shoulder, squeezes it, and says, "Good luck in there, Cornelius. You're gonna need it."

She reaches up to pat his hand and nods. "Thanks, Haymitch. You're not as bad as I thought you were, you know?"

He laughs, "I'm much worse when I'm sober, sweetheart."

"It's barely seven o'clock in the morning!" she exclaims with wide eyes.

She's not entirely surprised when he tips his mug at her with a wink and wisely chooses not to outright respond.

She's right though, Sil thinks as she watches Haymitch saunter back to the door. He's not so bad. He's drunk most of the time and can be very sarcastic on his good days, but when it comes down to it, Haymitch's heart is in the right place.

She's glad he's on her side. Katniss will need all the help she can get in the coming weeks, and Sil's got no doubt that Haymitch will be a source of strength. Or…more likely, he'll be there to put her back in her place and offer her alcohol during the hard parts.

* * *

 

At ten o'clock, Sil and Gloss are ambushed by their stylists. Iridessa herds her into the District 1 styling station on the bottom floor, where the Victor strips down and is dressed in a rather tight outfit.

"Is this spandex?" Sil asks, sounding horrified at the mere thought. Iridessa giggles, but it's clear that she's on the same wavelength because she cringes a moment later.

"Unfortunately," she responds, helping Sil zip up.

"Gracious…I was rather hoping I'd die with a little more style," the Victor mumbles, glowering at her reflection in the mirror. Tight is perhaps an understatement, but at least the material is thick and gives her more than enough support where it matters.

"The arena must be hot," Iridessa says offhandedly, tugging the spandex into place over Sil's shoulders before moving onto her hair. She takes a brush and starts combing the bristles through it.

A hot arena is a good one, at least for Sil who is used to the heat. It'd be worse off if the arena was cold and snowy – she'd never make it. But there are different kinds of heat. She's got a feeling this arena isn't going to be the dry desolate land it had been when she had won her first Games. This outfit isn't exactly suited for a desert landscape.

"We'll just do a little bit of makeup and put your hair up," Iridessa says, mostly to herself. Sil's long hair will undoubtably get in the way.

"Better put it in a bun instead," Sil drawls, going to sit down in the chair at the center of the room. "Even in a ponytail, it'll bother me."

Iridessa huffs, probably due to the fact that Sil is telling her how to do her job. Tough.

"Fine," she concedes, reaching for two hair elastics and pulling Sil's hair into a ponytail first, then twisting it around into a bun. She's securing it into place when there's a sudden knock on the door, and both women pause. There shouldn't be anyone at the door. The Games start at noon, and every Victor is in their styling room preparing.

Why is Sil surprised when Iridessa opens the door and Finnick is leaning charmingly against the threshold? More so, why is she surprised to find that he's clearly just escaped his stylists, because he's only wearing a towel around his waist?

Sil rolls her eyes, decides to ignore the fact that Finnick wearing a towel is probably the best sight she's ever seen, and impatiently wonders, "What on earth are you doing here, Finnick darling?"

She's got to keep up the act for Iridessa, otherwise she doubts she'd be as lenient. Finnick just grins, glances around the hallway behind him, and shoulders his way into the room.

"Aren't you pleased to see me, sugar? I just incited the wrath of my stylist for you," he shrugs. Iridessa snorts behind him and closes the door.

"It looks like you're about to do the same to mine," Sil says dryly, glancing at Iridessa with raised eyebrows. Then she flicks her eyes over Finnick's muscled chest and asks, "Did you really come all this way wearing only a towel?"

It's almost amusing. Almost. It's also extremely distracting, but she keeps that bit to herself. His ego is already bloated enough without any extra help from her. Finnick smirks and 'accidentally' loosens the towel from his waist. It juts down his hips an inch or two, which makes the annoyed look in Iridessa's eyes vanish entirely. Sil's eyes widen just barely, and she jerks up into a sitting position when the towel really does fall, fluttering to the ground and revealing –

"What, did you think I was actually naked?" he demands with a shit eating grin, and saunters over to Sil's chair. "You've got a dirtier mind than I thought, sugar."

Sil glowers at him. It seems as if they are back on the first page of their relationship, where he'd tease her relentlessly and sometimes even meanly. Wonderful. She turns her eyes as far away from his boxer briefs as she possibly can and sniffs haughtily.

"You can't have come all this way just to grace me with the sight of you," Sil says, leaning back in her seat as if it is a throne. She raises an eyebrow at him. "What do you want? The Games start in an hour."

He glances over his shoulder at Iridessa, who has turned beet red and is trying (and failing) to keep her eyes away from all that glorious bronze skin. It takes the stylist an extra moment to notice how the attention has been drawn to herself, and she sighs, patting her reddened cheeks and not even bothering to hide the fact that a moment ago, she'd just been ogling him with everything she had.

"I'll just go get some coffee from the machine outside. You've got two minutes, Finnick – I still have to do her makeup!" Iridessa shuffles out of the room with one last glance at Finnick's very attractive backside and leaves the two of them alone.

"Okay. Now that you've scared my stylist away, what do you want?" Sil demands the moment the door closes.

He rolls his eyes. "Just wanted to make sure you still had the ring. It's important."

The mention of her so-called wedding ring puts her in a bitter mood. Sil glances down at it with a frown. It's still on her forth finger, where it's been since yesterday. The weight of it is heavy and foreign. Finnick follows her eyes to it and clears his throat.

"Guess you do," he mumbles, and crosses his arms.

Sil turns to look at him. He really is the most attractive man she's ever seen. Muscled, tanned – his body is to die for. No doubt he's the envy of every other man in the Capitol. It's little wonder why Snow wanted him in his particular line of work. What must it be like, to get him into bed? All that bronze skin on display between the sheets…

Her face feels hot, and she's got a feeling that Finnick knows where her thoughts have gone because he's smirking widely at her.

"It's all real, too," he tells her with a wink, and she jerks back.

"What?!" she asks, not entirely sure what he's even on about.

He grins. "The tan. What did you think I meant, sugar?" From the way his eyes are glinting, he's obviously aware of what she thought he was talking about.

Her blush gets hotter and she looks away, wishing he'd put that towel back around his waist. Honestly, those boxer briefs aren't really that good at hiding everything.

"I also wanted to tell you something," he suddenly says, changing the topic so fast that Sil is reeling. He pauses, as if he's contemplating his words, and then slowly says, "Yesterday you said something about how you didn't want to complicate my life. But Sil…" He catches her eye and the serious look in his gaze makes her hold her breath. "…It wouldn't be a complication if I wanted to be swept into your life." He blinks at her, then murmurs, "I just wanted to tell you that before we go in."

Sil stares at him. He confuses her so much. One minute he's treating her like a child, and the next she's a queen. How she wishes she could get inside his head and determine which of the two she actually is.

"I'm afraid it's not that simple," she mutters. He blinks at her, not understanding, but this time Finnick doesn't try to find the answers in her confusing wording.

Instead he merely smiles and shrugs, "I'll see you in the arena, sugar. I'll be the handsome one covered in dirt." He winks, and turns to go.

She's not sure what makes her stop him before he does, but suddenly Sil is calling, "Finnick." He pauses, turns back to face her, and tilts his head curiously.

"…For what it's worth, I didn't mean what I said before. At Gigi's." She flounders, then adds, "I like being around you. Though your fashion sense could use a little fixing."

He laughs, eyes softer than they'd been a moment ago. "That's why you're here to give your expert advice," he tells her, grins, and opens the door. As he leaves, Sil feels more at peace than she should feel, an hour before the Games, but the feeling doesn't last. Her apprehension returns soon enough, and the reminder that the Games are fast approaching does not help to slow the nervous beat of her heart.

She sits back in her chair, sighs, and tries not to think about the fact that by the end of the day, she will be going to sleep on the cold, hard ground in an arena built to kill.


	25. That I find myself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which the Games officially begin, Sil falls in with Katniss's group, and she wonders, not for the first time, if Finnick's affections for her are fabricated or real.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy this chapter! Now that we're officially in the arena arc, things are gonna start getting interesting.

 

**Chapter Twenty Five | That I find myself**

" _Had she but turned back then, and looked out once more onto the rose-lit garden, she would have seen that which would have made her own sufferings seem but light and easy to bear – a strong man, overwhelmed with his own passion and his own despair. Pride had given way at last, obstinacy was gone: the will was powerless. He was but a man madly, blindly, passionately in love." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

The hour flies by far too quickly. Before she knows it, Sil is stepping into the tube and watching it close around her as she is lifted up into the arena. Everything feels like a blur, as if the seconds are melded together. At once she is blinded by an intense sun, and before she even has the chance to look at her surroundings, a Gamemaker's voice sounds around her.

"Welcome to the 75th Hunger Games. Let the countdown begin!" The timer immediately starts, ticking down from 60.

Time continues to blur. Sil looks around from her pedestal, which is in the middle of an ocean. Upon closer inspection, it is more like a large oceanic lake. A beach cuts around it, and a jungle around that. There are more pedestals around her, circling the cornucopia, which she will have to swim to. The thought makes her a little sick.

She's not very good at swimming long distances. Her small pool back in the Cornelius Estate isn't exactly the best form of practice. District 1 is a desert; all sand and no water. Her training to become the rebel she is today had occurred in increments, and always in the vault beneath Mr. Dorsey's shop or far out in the desert of her home. She can shoot a gun easily enough, but this? Water is her weakness…and it is Finnick's strength.

She sees him five pedestals down, standing tall around the lapping water, as if he can't wait to jump in. She should have made him teach her how to swim when they were in District 4! Now she is helpless, the one thing she cannot be in the Hunger Games.

"10…9…8…"

Sil drops into a crouch, clutches the edge of the pedestal tightly, and gets ready to propel herself into the water. She's afraid, but what else can she do? If she waits around, then she'll become a target. She has to at least try.

"7…6…5…"

She sees Finnick dropping into a similar position, propping his foot on the edge so as to push himself off. He lifts his head and looks at her, but he's too far away to read, and Sil just swallows thickly. That is always the problem, isn't it? He is always just out of reach.

"4…3…2…1!" A loud boom goes off and Sil dives in.

There's only one consolation for her ineptitude, and that is that most of the other Victors don't know how to swim either. She's not the only one struggling to push through the water.

It's always surprising, how far a person's will can get them. Sil is determined to reach the Cornucopia, and she does, but she is not the first. Finnick, as expected, had been the first the haul himself onto the nearest stony outcrop that spans from the cornucopia. The moment Sil's arms touch the rocks, he drags her spluttering form up like she's a ragdoll. He's already holding a gleaming silver trident and a belt of knives. When he lifts her up, he does so quickly and effortlessly, righting her before shoving two knives into her hands and pulling her to where Katniss and Mags are already waiting.

"Peeta is still out there!" Katniss is saying. She doesn't even seem to care that Sil has joined their group. Finnick must have already settled things with her.

"I'll get him," Finnick volunteers. "You get to the beach. I'll meet up with you there."

Oh great, more swimming! Sil deflates but doesn't argue. They need to get off this tiny island before it becomes infested with other Victors. They are already crawling up the rocks as Finnick dives back into the ocean with one expert motion, and Mags pulls Sil down one of the rocky trails. Katniss falls behind them, bow drawn and a fierce but anxious look on her face.

They dive back into the water. By the time they get to the beach, Sil has probably swallowed half a gallon of salt water and is a coughing mess. She doesn't even realize that Finnick and Peeta have joined them until her so-called husband drops to his knees beside her and brushes her hair out of her face.

"You okay, sugar?" he asks quietly. There's a tiny, amused smile craning up one half of his mouth and she scowls at it. Only Finnick would find something to laugh about right after the bloodbath of the Hunger Games…especially when it is at her expense.

"Oh shut up," Sil responds, pushing him away. He chuckles, but turns serious moments later. The change is surprising but not really a shock. They're still on the beach, in plain sight of the cornucopia. They need to find cover.

"Come on, up you go," he says, grasping her under the arms and dragging her to her feet. She decides that she really doesn't appreciate him manhandling her, but doesn't exactly have the chance to berate him about it. Katniss is already moving towards the jungle, and Finnick slips a hand around Sil's as he pulls her along in her wake.

"Well now I understand the need for these atrocious outfits," Sil sighs as they start trekking through the undergrowth. The arena is awful this year. Hot and humid. She's already sweating despite having just been splashing around in the water, and can only imagine how the nights will be. She is used to the heat in District 1, but that is dry. This is like there is an ocean of water in the very air she breathes.

Finnick glances back at her with a raised brow, darting his eyes over her outfit as he drawls, "It's barely been five minutes and you're already complaining about our fashionable spandex suits?"

He clucks his tongue and she huffs, trying to wriggle her hand out of his. He merely grins and grasps it tighter, unwilling to let go.

Up ahead, Katniss and Peeta are leading them through the jungle, which is getting thicker with every step they take. It almost feels as if the trees are trying to swallow them whole. She sees Mags struggling to maneuver around several twisting roots and pushes Finnick in her direction. The old woman needs help more than she does.

This time, Finnick seems to agree with her and releases her hand. He puts his arm around Mags and guides her over the undergrowth behind Katniss and Peeta. Sil trails behind, watching the others as they scurry forward, dodging branches and ferns. The farther they go, the darker it gets, yet it seems to grow hotter despite the sun being shrouded from view.

They walk for what seems like miles, deeper and deeper into the tangled jungle. After a while, Katniss stops and suggests that she climbs a nearby tree in search of water. The vantage point will help, she says. But when she drops back down into the soil after several long, grueling minutes, her face says all that needs to be said. There had been no sign of water.

Sil is beginning to wonder if this hell will ever end when they arrive at their first near death experience. She's trudging along behind the group, thinking steadfastly about crisp mountain water and other such tempting things when it happens. Finnick has kept a periodic lookout for her – glancing over his shoulder every other minute to ensure that she is still behind him and has not meandered away. His concern is touching, as well as insulting, but there are more important things to worry about than whether or not Finnick Odair trusts her to keep her head in the arena.

Like Peeta's death, for example.

Death is such a relative term. She doesn't know if it fits the situation or not. All she knows is that Katniss pauses very suddenly to tell them all to stop, and the haze of the jungle clears when the warning comes too late.

"Peeta!" Katniss exclaims as the boy she claims to love slams hard into what must be a forcefield. He's thrown back several feet and lands on his back, twitching as if his body has been burnt through. Sil has never before seen the effects of electrical damage, and she decides that once is quite enough.

"Oh my God," Katniss sobs rather unexpectedly, curling herself around Peeta's prone form. "Peeta, Peeta…"

She's shaking him as if she expects him to just shrug it off and get up, but it's rather clear to everyone else that such a miracle is not about to happen. That's when Finnick steps forward. He pushes Katniss out of the way and purposefully leans over Peeta. Katniss looks up at him with wide, confused eyes as Finnick plugs the boy's nose with two fingers. The moment she sees him do this, Katniss is understandably sent into a spiral of outrage.

"Get off of him!" she hisses, grabbing Finnick's shoulders with a snarl. Sil watches from the background but doesn't get involved. Just as well.

Finnick has it all under control as he says,  _"I'm trying to save him,"_  in a voice too insistent to be false.

Of course Sil has some understanding of his actions, but even she's taken aback when Finnick plugs Peeta's nose again and drops his mouth to his. It's…maybe a little disconcerting, until Sil realizes just what her faux husband is actually trying to accomplish.

He's pushing breath into Peeta's lungs. Realization dawns. She watches Finnick lean back and press his hands over Peeta's heart, pumping the boy's chest for several seconds before repeating the process all over again. It takes about thirty seconds, though those seconds seem to drag into an eternity as they all wait with baited breath.

Then Peeta gasps, and it's such a harsh, choking,  _dead_  sound that Sil very nearly cringes. Katniss's sobbing returns, this time with obvious relief as she throws her arms around Peeta's neck and buries her face against him.

"You were dead!" she cries, "You weren't breathing – "

"I'm okay, Katniss," Peeta rasps, grasping her tightly as she sobs openly against his body.

It's such a private scene that Sil turns away. She looks out over the trail they just traversed and sighs, feeling as if the jungle is swallowing her whole. Everything looks the same. Gnarled roots, low branches, ferns that dart out into the path – and no water. Peeta nearly died and they've come to the end of the line. The forcefield means that they can't keep going forward. She feels suddenly hopeless. Then Finnick's hand twists around her fingers, and Sil looks over at him. His tall form towers above her, and he sends her a wink for good measure. It makes her crack a smile, at least. He makes the world seem lighter.

"You know, for a second there, I thought you were kissing him," Sil lightly says, wanting nothing more than to pretend as though she is somewhere else, somewhere far from here. Perhaps in her home – perhaps in his, curled up on the balcony chairs that overlook the breathtaking glimmering ocean that surrounds District 4. She cannot have the ocean, so she'll have to settle for what little of it remains in the glimmer of his eyes, dark and mysterious.

He laughs. "Were you jealous?" he asks with a mischievous smirk.

Sil is about to roll her eyes and scoff at him when she decides that perhaps she had been a little jealous (just a little), and the Capitol would probably enjoy such a conversation.

She inches closer into his side and smirks right back, twisting her fingers around his as if to say that he is hers.

"I think I was," she says, and isn't sure if she's being honest or not. Is she really playing this up for the Capitol, or is that just an excuse? Sometimes she gets lost in the in-betweens of it all.

If Finnick is also lost, he does a very good job at hiding it. The smile he sends her seems as genuine as ever, as if he is overcome by giddiness and affection.

"No need to be," he tells her, sidling closer and cupping her face. His lips brush gently over her cheekbone and she closes her eyes, swept up in his presence. This, she decides, is not an act. At least not on her part.

He's about to kiss her properly when the others brush themselves off and get up, and suddenly there's no time for romantic actions. The reminder that they are in the arena and not somewhere safe trickles back into Sil's head, and she sighs. Finnick exhales along with her, as if he is as annoyed at the interruption as she is.

"Later," he promises. Probably for the cameras.

They start walking again. Mags ends up saving the day when she starts to eat these strange looking nuts. Katniss claims to be able to hear the forcefield that marks the outer edges of the arena, and she comes up with a way to make sure that they don't run into it again by throwing the nuts at it. Their progress is slow, but safe. It's all they can hope for at this point.

Still, there is no sign of water. When they find a place to stop for the night, they're all dragging their feet and trying not to complain. Sil's throat is parched, and the lack of water has put them all in a terrible mood. It isn't the greatest end to the first day, which is why the subtle beep of an incoming parachute is so gratifying.

It lands in the center of their haphazard encampment, near Peeta. He is the first to reach it. They crowd around him as he does, all hoping for a canister of water to slake their thirst.

"Who's it for?" Katniss wonders, peering over Peeta's shoulder as he unfastens the metal container from the parachute's sails.

"Who cares who it's for? As long as it's water," Finnick says. His remark earns him a sneer from Katniss just as Peeta fishes out the white message from the parcel.

"It's for Sil," he claims, raising his eyebrows. Sil, who hasn't bothered getting up from her perch on a nearby log, snorts. Mags is sitting next to her and sends the younger girl a little smile.

"Naturally," Sil drawls, sweeping her hair out of its ties and running her fingers through the tangled mess. The heat of the jungle has done a number on it despite it being up in a bun all day. Her natural waves are more like frizzled curls now. Yet even in the current situation, she still somehow manages to appear as though she is better than the rest of them. Typical queen complex, Finnick thinks.

Finnick glances at her with a dry expression before turning back to the parcel. "What is it?" he asks, trying to get a good look at the contents.

Peeta pries it open and they all stare at it with dumbfounded expressions.

After a drawn-out moment of gaping, Peeta lifts up a small package of what looks like candies from the center of the compartment.

"…Watermelon Fancies?" Finnick slowly reads. His expression turns several shades drier.

Sil perks up immediately. "Gracious, what a lovely thing to send! My sponsors are so good to me." She smiles prettily and nearly laughs aloud when Finnick turns to gape at her.

"Your sponsors can't send you something…I don't know, useful?" he inquires with a hint of annoyance. He snatches the bag of candy from Peeta's fingers and tosses it at Sil, who expertly catches it as easily as breathing. She pouts at him and settles back against the log as she rips open the plastic bag.

"Watermelon Fancies are my favorite," she counters, as if that makes everything better.

Finnick just groans and rubs his face. Clearly this conversation isn't going anywhere, so he gives up.

Sil just munches happily on the candy. She offers one to Mags, and the two of them get through half the bag before Sil puts it away for now. It is ridiculous, getting candy instead of something more important, but then again, Cashmere is in charge of all her gifts. It makes sense that she would limit Sil's sponsors and try to get them to give Gloss gifts instead.

They settle down for the night and put up watches. Katniss stays up first, claiming that she won't be able to sleep anyhow. No one argues with her, despite the fact that everyone else doubts their ability to get a good night's rest. Sil tries to get comfortable, but lying on the hard, cold ground isn't exactly pleasant, and she ends up just staring into the jungle with her back to the others.

Time passes. Soon enough, Peeta's soft snores fill the silence. He must be exhausted from his meet and greet with death earlier today, so Sil isn't surprised. She more surprised at the way Finnick's voice suddenly drifts over to her from the other side of their makeshift camp.

"I can't sleep. I'll keep watch with you," he quietly says, no doubt talking to Katniss. There isn't any verbal sign of disagreement on Katniss's end. Silence fills the camp again, riddled with the sounds of nature – crickets chirping, bugs flying – it is all so very charming. (Que the sarcasm.)

Sil keeps her eyes closed, trying to find sleep. She wishes she had Peeta's fortitude.

"You know…" Finnick suddenly murmurs, almost too quietly for Sil to hear. "I always thought it was an act. You and him. I realized today that you really do love him."

Katniss grunts, and Sil imagines her face to be set in some kind of grimace. The Girl on Fire hesitantly wonders, almost as if she is ashamed, "…Was it that obvious?"

Finnick chuckles. "You practically threw yourself at him the moment he went down. I don't think anyone could fake those tears."

The reminder of her sobbing must be what makes Katniss grunt. There is a shuffling sound, perhaps of her turning away. Perhaps she is looking at the boy she loves. Sil wishes she had rolled onto her other side so she could see them, but she doesn't want to alert either of them to the fact that she's actually very much awake. She has a feeling that this conversation is a bit more private than they both intended.

She's right, because after a moment, Katniss dryly asks, "Would you have had the same reaction if Sil nearly died?"

Sil stiffens, just a little. They don't know she's awake, so Finnick could respond however he wants and not feel the consequences. He could finally admit that he loathes everything about –

"Well, the CPR would be a lot nicer," he jokes, and Sil scowls. Of course he would joke about this. He always makes light of the important things.

Katniss, though, seems amused. She laughs softly. "That must've been something you learned in 4." It is a question as much as it is a statement.

Finnick hums in agreement. "It's the first thing they teach you before you take a job. I must've scared you, didn't I? Did you think I was trying to steal your boyfriend?" He laughs again.

Katniss blandly responds, "After I decided you weren't trying to  _kill_  him, I thought you were trying to make Sil jealous or something. You two have a weird relationship."

Her words, the way the conversation suddenly returns to Sil, seems to make Finnick falter. Sil falters too, though she isn't able to do much of anything except sink into the ground.

After a beat of silence that seems to drag on into forever, Finnick slowly says, "I love her."

Sil's heart nearly beats out of her chest for one brief, beautiful moment – and then she remembers the cameras, the audience, the crowd of Capitol sponsors hooked on his every word. And she falters again, but this time it's worse because there is a certain hopelessness embedded into every shaky breath.

Does he really love her? How much? Is it enough to transcend these cameras? Are his words even real? Or is he just spewing pretty sentiments to get more sponsors and to keep up their little act?

She wishes she could see his face. Perhaps if she could see his eyes she would know if he is being Finnick Odair, Daydream of the Capitol, or just Finnick. Finnick, who she has unwittingly fallen for. Finnick, who has no idea who and what she is.

Katniss must see something that Sil is unable to, because she quietly says, "You should tell her."

The words seem to shatter whatever atmosphere has been building up, because Finnick laughs and responds, "Tell her? I'm  _married_  to her."

And they are right back at the start, skirting around the edges of their strange love affair that isn't really an affair at all. It's just a calculated attempt at appeasing their President's orders.

But there must still be  _something_ , because Katniss softly murmurs, "Still. You should tell her. We're in the middle of the Hunger Games, Finnick. You don't know what'll happen before the end of it."

Sil holds her breath and slowly lets it out as quietly as she can. Behind her, Finnick sighs.

"I never thought the Girl on Fire would be such a romantic," he mutters. He doesn't say anything more, and after a moment, Katniss seems to have given up on him. Probably just as well. Sil doesn't want Finnick to tell her he loves her only for the cameras. She greedily wants his love to be true and as selfish as hers, something that she doubts will ever happen.

Minutes trickle silently by after that. Sil closes her eyes once again, trying to find the sleep that keeps evading her. Her mind buzzes with thought, and she just isn't comfortable lodged between the hard ground and Finnick's words. It's just as well, then, when her failed attempts at sleep are interrupted.

The soft beeping sound of yet another parachute cascades gently over the camp, and she hears Katniss and Finnick shoot to their feet. It takes Sil every ounce of energy not to join them. She's supposed to be fast asleep, after all.

"Another parachute?" Finnick wonders as he watches the metal container slowly make its way to the ground. Katniss reaches for it the and quickly tears through it.

"Hopefully it's not more candy," she mutters, and Finnicks laughs.

It isn't candy. It's something much more valuable…though neither of them knows it yet. There is no note that accompanies the gift save a rather strange set of words from Haymitch, and it only adds to the confusion that much more. Katniss holds it up to the moonlight and frowns.

"What is it?" she asks. Finnick looks just as lost.

It's metal. One end is sharp and the other is circular. It looks vaguely familiar to Katniss. She wracks her brain, trying to figure out where she's seen an object like this before, but can't come to any conclusions.

"Haymitch wouldn't send something useless," Finnick says, taking the metal piece from Katniss to study it himself. He twists it around, examining every side, but ends up tossing it back to her moments later with a huff. "I don't  _think_  he would, anyway. Unless he's going through one of his whiskey episodes. Those are the worst."

Katniss rolls her eyes. "He promised he'd stay sober for me and Peeta. He didn't send this in a fit of drunkenness." She hopes.

They fall silent, staring broodingly at the gift as the minutes slip by. Sil stares into the forest dully, once again wishing that she is facing their direction. Then maybe she could figure out what this mystery item is.

But it doesn't matter, because after a few more minutes of chirping crickets and hooting owls, Katniss suddenly jolts upward with a blurted, "Spile!"

Finnick stares.

"It's a spile!" she gasps, grabbing the metal and throwing herself to the first tree she can reach. "You hammer it into the trunk, and – damn it," she mutters, and searches for a rock.

"Here, let me," Finnick says, tossing one in his hand. He makes short work of it. Soon, the metal is sticking out of the tree, and the two of them are staring at it in apprehension. Finnick is still a little lost, but Katniss seems very sure of herself, so he waits.

The wait is worth it. Water starts to trickle out of the circular side, and Finnick's eyebrows shoot up into his hairline. Water in a tree? He hadn't realized that was a thing. Then again, he's a bit out of his comfort zone in this jungle environment.

They jerk forward, taking turns swallowing mouthfuls of water to sate their unquenchable thirst. Katniss hurries over to wake Peeta, and Finnick starts to fill a large leaf with water to bring to Mags. The entire camp soon awakens. Sil does a good job acting disoriented, as if she's just come out of sleep. Finnick's sudden attention helps – when he kneels down beside her with a leaf full of water, she blinks in confusion.

"Water," he explains, clearly not realizing that she's already heard their entire conversation and is well aware. She forces her eyes to widen as if she's shocked at the news, and greedily sits up. Finnick guides the leaf to her lips and she reaches up to hold his wrist as he helps her drink. It's messy, and she's still thirsty, so Finnick helps her to her feet and she launches herself over to the spile to drink more.

As Sil takes her fill of it, Finnick stands behind her and cards his fingers through her hair in a comforting manner. She uses the water as an excuse to ignore his actions, though she can't help but remember his words before.

_I love her._

She never would have imagined that those words could give her such grief.

When they've drunk their fill, Katniss loosens the spile from the tree and they all settle back down to get some much needed rest. To Sil's complete surprise, Finnick makes his way to her side and throws himself onto the ground between her and Mags.

"Well this is comfy," he jokes, no doubt speaking more of the fact that he is squished between the two women and not about the hard ground itself.

Mags gives a throaty laugh and reaches over to pat his arm. Sil just rolls her eyes and turns her back on him, facing the opposite direction. At this rate, she's never going to find sleep. Her heart is beating a million miles a minute, just knowing that he is mere inches away.

"Aw, don't be like that, sugar," he says to her, rolling onto his side to peer down at her face. Her hair provides the perfect shield – until Finnick lifts a hand to brush it away. His fingertips burn warmth against her skin and she struggles not to shiver. She doesn't succeed, but luckily Finnick thinks her shivers are for another reason.

"See? You're freezing," he murmurs, and goes one step further as he wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her body firmly against his.

She gasps and immediately tries to sit up, face red at the indecency of it all (and her nerves). But Finnick just holds her tighter and she ends up flopping against him uselessly. He laughs.

"Finnick!" she hisses, clawing at his hand, which is locked around her abdomen.

"If you keep moving around like that, sleep is gonna be the last thing on my mind," he tells her, only half joking. Needless to say, Sil immediately stops. Horror catches her expression and she swallows tightly.

He leans in to kiss her neck, and against her ear he whispers lowly, "We're supposed to be  _married,_  Sil. At least  _try_  to play along."

She frowns but doesn't argue. If she's being honest with herself, the idea of moving away from him is even worse. He's solid and warm behind her, and she feels safe in his arms. But the logical part of her ruins the feeling when she wonders if Finnick would ever hold her like this without cameras documenting their actions.

Once again, she is faced with the conundrum of his feelings for her. For now, though, she is tired and warm, and she forces those thoughts from her mind and decides to just enjoy the moment for what it is.

As she subtly snuggles closer to him, Finnick smiles.

If only she could see it, perhaps her worries would be put to rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I already used that gif in a previous chapter, but Finnick's unimpressed expression perfectly reflects his reaction to the Watermelon Fancies that Sil receives ;)
> 
> See you all on Tuesday for the next update!


	26. So deeply

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which the Victors begin to realize just how dangerous this arena is, they lose one of their own, and nearly lose another too.
> 
> Well, this chapter is not my favorite! The fog scene is a little hard to believe, but even though I've sat down to edit it several times, I just couldn't change the events. You'll all have to tell me how you think of it!

 

**Chapter Twenty Six | So deeply**

" _Instinctively, with sudden, overmastering passion at the sight of her helplessness and of her grief, he stretched out his arms, and the next would have seized her and held her to him, protected from every evil with his very life, his very heart's blood." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

Sleep just doesn't come that night. Sil finally falls into a restless slumber, her head fit snugly against Finnick's outstretched arm. He holds her tight against him. It is a comforting tightness that makes her feel safe, as if she is not in the arena at all. She falls asleep to the sound of his breathing, and wakes up after what feels like mere minutes upon drifting off.

"GET UP!" Katniss shouts into the night, practically screeching as she hastens over to Peeta's side and rattles him awake. They all shoot up in alarm, only to find a wall of fog inching its way toward them through the jungle canopy.

"The fog is poisonous!" Katniss yells as she grabs her bow and slings it over her shoulders.

Finnick is up within seconds, dragging Sil roughly to a standing position before helping Mags to her feet. Sil nearly topples over at his manhandling, but she doesn't complain. Her mind twists, eyes calculating the distance between the fog and them. She notices that the fog lingers near to the ground, not drifting up very far into the treetops. That is about all she notices before Finnick is shoving her forward, urging her to follow Katniss as the Girl on Fire leads them to safety.

Safety. It is a relative term in the Hunger Games.

They barrel through the jungle like they're on fire. The fog shrivels up plants in its wake, its poisonous fumes drifting like wildfire into the undergrowth. It might just be the danger that rattles through Sil as she runs, but it seems almost as if the fog is spinning faster as they try to put distance between them and the deathtrap. It wouldn't be such an odd thing, really – everything is fabricated in the arena.

Mags falls behind. So does Peeta. His injured body is still mending, and he is slow and cumbersome. Katniss helps him move forward, and Finnicks makes Mags get on his back so that he can carry her. But in the end, a death must be paid.

Peeta falls, tripping over a jutting root and landing flat on his face. Katniss throws herself down beside him and urges him to get up, but it is apparent that they are not going to make it at the pace they are going. The fog is nearly at their ankles, biting at the skin, weakening their legs. Sil feels it. She turns her eyes back to Finnick, worried that he is too far behind, only to see that Mags has climbed from his back and is standing on the forest floor.

Finnick is arguing with her. She's never heard his voice so panicked – usually he is so calm and collected. She watches with baited breath as Mags pats him on the cheek, smiles happily, and waves her hands around in her usual manner of communication. Whatever she says causes Finnick to dart his eyes over to Sil's before turning back to Mags.

Then the old woman throws her arms out and runs into the fog fearlessly.

Finnick's face contorts with pain before blazing with determination. He turns, grasps Peeta's waist, and throws the younger boy over his shoulder with a heave of strength. All of this happens so quickly that Sil is left reeling, and they start running again before she has caught up with her spinning thoughts.

A canon blasts behind them.

Sil feels tears lash at her eyes. Her legs ache. The poison leeches into her skin and every step is more painful than the last. This time, it is her that falls behind, but none of the others seem to notice. She is used to being overlooked, but she finds it harder and harder to push forward as the fog beings to climb up around her.

She loses them in it, and in her haste to find them again, her shoulder catches against a tree trunk and she loses her balance. She skids forward into another tree and clenches her teeth at the pain of the fog and the collision combined.

"Finnick!" she calls, but she knows it's hopeless. He is nowhere to be seen.

The mist is everywhere, surrounding her in a thin blanket that will get thicker with each passing moment. She cannot outrun it. She cannot do anything. So she does the only thing she can do: climb.

She heaves herself up into the tree. Her skin feels like its tearing off with every move, and it takes the remainder of her energy to reach a safe distance in the treetops. She stops when she is near the canopy, and falls against the tree trunk with a sob of exhaustion and terror.

The fog keeps moving below her, like a stream. She watches it carefully, waiting for the gamemakers to decide that they want to send it up the tree and kill her. She's trapped and useless right now, separated from her group and in the prime position to be taken out. But nothing happens.

Perhaps they have decided that one death was enough for tonight?

Perhaps they are too caught up in whatever is happening to Finnick, Katniss, and Peeta?

Sil lets out a tired sigh and leans back against the tree. She can't do anything now; she'll have to wait out the fog and look for her lost companions when it clears.

She keeps breathing, and focuses on each inhalation. It is all she can do not to start bawling her eyes out.

Mags is dead. She is lost and injured. The others will think she is dead, too. She is alone.

* * *

Meanwhile, the others stumble out of the jungle with even more injuries due to the monkey attack that had caught them off guard. The sun has yet to rise, and the day seems all the darker for it. Everything that has happened tonight is dark.

Finnick goes right to the water's edge and collapses into it. He holds his trident so tightly that his knuckles burn white. The tips of it are covered in blood.

Mags is dead. And Sil…

Where is Sil?

She had disappeared before they'd even reached the small pond that the monkeys had claimed. Had the fog taken her as well? He hadn't realized that she wasn't behind him – and then when he glanced back, she was gone.

He cannot think of her as dead, but in his heart he knows that it is logical to assume such a thing. These are the Hunger Games, and Sil is not a killer. He's not sure what she is, but there's no way she could have survived that fog by herself. They had barely managed to outrun it.

"Hey," a voice murmurs behind him. Finnick doesn't look back at Peeta. He doesn't take his eyes from the water.

When silence is his only response, Peeta sighs. "We're scrounging up a meal. You should eat something and get some rest."

Finnick just keeps staring at the water blankly, as if the answers he searches for are hidden beneath the murky depths.

That is how Sil finds him hours later.

Wrestling her body out of that tree had been harder than she wants to admit. The poison is a slow acting type, but it's extremely numbing. By the time the silver light of early dawn breaks through the trees, Sil can hardly feel her legs, let alone move them.

She ends up falling after about ten feet and bruises a large portion of her side when she lands on a tangled root. How she doesn't break a bone, she doesn't know. Perhaps her luck has finally turned for the better.

It doesn't seem like it, though. She practically hobbles through the forest, moving on numb legs that aren't very trustworthy. She falls quite a few times. It probably takes her over an hour to reach the shore, though she's sure that it could be longer. When she finally does, she collapses with relief.

She feels so weak that once her knees fall to the sand, the very thought of getting up again makes her blanch. It is fortunate, then, that she has arrived close enough to where the others have set up camp. Another stroke of luck on an altogether witless day.

Peeta sees her first. Had his back been turned to the jungle, he wouldn't have even noticed her. But as it is, he is moving restlessly around. His leg is still injured and his gait is not smooth, but he can't just sit down and let the events of the night bear him down. Finnick is doing enough of that for the rest of them; he hasn't moved an inch since last Peeta spoke to him hours before. All that changes the moment Peeta sees Sil, hunched over in the edges of the jungle.

"Silver?!" he gasps, mouth parting in shock. His voice carries. Within moments, Finnick's head is turning for the first time since he took his place in the ocean. Hope dashes his eyes when they catch sight of the woman he has spent so much time with these last few months. He is standing up before Peeta can so much as take a step, and is flying on unsteady feet to Sil's form.

She is a mess.

"Sil," he chokes, collapsing beside her. His fingers move everywhere, fluttering over her face and cheeks, through her tangled hair, down her arms. It is almost as if he is making sure that she is real and not a figment of his imagination. His eyes bear into hers, and she uses the very last ounce of her energy to look up at him before she falls forward in a useless heap. He catches her. His hope turns to worry, which fades into panic when she doesn't move again. Katniss and Peeta gather around them.

Finnick swallows tightly when Katniss says, "She needs to get in the water. Her body is full of poison. I don't know how she even got this far."

"Right," Finnick mumbles, voice as shaky as his emotions, which seem battered and raw. He hooks his arm beneath her knees and lifts her up into the air, cradling her body against his chest. It is only when he wades into the water and lowers her carefully into the salty brine that she makes it clear she's still alive. She whimpers, curling her fingers around his arm and opening her eyes to stare into his. The pain in her gaze cuts him.

"Shh, it'll be okay now," he whispers. His voice sounds strangled, almost. Like he's on the verge of crying. He crouches with her in the water, laying her on his legs and slowly lowering her to her neck. Her eyes fill with tears and he lifts a hand to smooth it over her head.

"The poison is leaving your body. Just bear it for a little while," he murmurs, leaning forward to kiss her temple. "I've got you. You're safe."

Other words of comfort leave his lips, even as he submerges her fully into the water, gently lifting her up then back down until the foggy poison has all but left her body. Even then, she is as weak as a newborn deer, and can only work up enough energy to turn her head into his neck and cling to him. It doesn't bother him all that much; he wouldn't let her go now even if his life depended on it.

"I thought you were dead," he tells her with a strained sob. Sil grasps him harder and tilts her head to look up at his red rimmed eyes. She manages a shaky smile that seems to make him even more emotional, because Finnick buries his face against her hair and holds her very tightly. They sit together in the water for what feels like hours, leaving only when Katniss calls them over for food and water. Sil is famished – the mere mention of food has her stomach grumbling loudly. She would have blushed at the noise, but she is too weak to feel embarrassment.

Finnick chuckles and lifts her up, carrying her over the sand to where their little camp is set up. To her surprise, he lowers them both down and keeps her snugly in his lap. She's about to question him about it, but then she remembers that they are supposed to be married. And besides, his red rimmed eyes have not gone unnoticed by her. He is in need of just as much comfort as she is, after the death of his mentor and friend.

She still can't quite believe that Mags is dead, but she forces herself to brush the thought away for now. There is no use lamenting over such things in the arena, and the moment Peeta hands her a little woven bowl of shellfish, such morbid thinking drifts away in favor if quenching her hunger.

"What happened?" Finnick asks her as she eats. He thinks it's strange, the brusque way she shoves the food into her mouth. Her every action is always so delicate and demure – but this is the Games, and he knows that the delicate ones don't survive. Sil obviously knows this too.

As she swallows a mouthful, she responds, "I knew I wasn't going to outrun the fog, so I climbed a tree instead and waited it out."

Finnick hums thoughtfully, fingers drifting over the scraps that litter her body. "That explains all these." He leans down to kiss her shoulder and she pretends as if this affection is normal.

Why does she always have to pretend?

As she eats, Peeta catches her up on everything that's happened in her absence. She is glad that she missed the monkey attack, though not happy that they were risking their lives while she rested in a treetop.

By the time she's finished, the sun is higher in the sky and Finnick suggests they go back in the water to make sure all the poison is out of her system. She agrees, and together they wade out into the shallows. Her skin tingles a little, but doesn't burn. Finnick seems to think this is a good sign.

"Don't scratch," he tells her when he sees her itching the wounds on her arms. Sil frowns and he sighs. "Katniss has some cream we can put on the cuts. It'll help the itching, but it'll make you look like a sea monster." He cracks a smile.

"A sea monster?" she wonders dryly, eyebrows perking up. "I think I'd rather bleed to death."

In the end, she goes for the sea monster look, if only to provide some relief from the intensity of the itching. It seems to get worse the more time passes. Finnick is only too happy to help her put it on, and she thinks it is a sorry excuse for a romantic moment but doesn't argue. Sponsors, and all that.

"I'll braid your hair later, get it out of your face," he says as he smooths the green ointment over her skin. She sits prettily (she wishes) in the sand, as if she is a queen being attended to. Unfortunately, there is nothing regal about having green paste on every inch of her body, but at least she isn't alone. The others reapply the cream as well, and soon they all match.

"We're pretty out in the open," Sil comments as Finnick goes to wash his hands in the seawater. She watches him crouch down in the shallows with an unreadable expression on her face. Well, unreadable to some, at least. Peeta seems to see right through her and her thin façade. She tries to appear strong and unconcerned with Finnick and all his affections, but she has a feeling that of all people, Peeta understands. It's a little nerve wracking.

Katniss grunts an agreement as she tries to copy the intricate weaving that Finnick had used to create the grass bowls. It's clear that her creative facilities are lacking because she looks frustrated, and the bowl she's trying to make looks anything than what it's intended for.

"It can't be safe here, in plain sight," Sil murmurs thoughtfully as she twists her fingers into the sand by her knee.

"It isn't," comes Finnick's voice. He's drying his hands on what remains of his spandex suit. The poison attack and the monkeys have done a number on it, and there are more tears than smooth panels. With the green paste spread over his cheeks, Sil doubts she's ever seen the great Finnick Odair looking so shabby.

Then again, they're all a little worse for wear.

"But," he sighs, sitting down beside her and starting to card his fingers through her tangled hair, "it's the best we've got for now. Going back into that jungle isn't something I want to do any time soon."

Sil winces when he reaches a particularly vicious knot and mutters, "Still, anyone could find us here. I wouldn't be surprised if the Careers know exactly where we are."

Her words of wisdom aren't really wise, at least not in the sense that they cause revelations to sprout up in her companion's minds. They all know the dangers of lurking on the beach, so out in the open. But when she worries, she tends to speak the obvious.

Finnick just hums and works on detangling the knot at the base of her skull. She's not sure if his next words are an attempt at distraction or not, but when he says, "Maybe we should just cut all this off," Sil jumps up in alarmed disdain.

"Cut it off?!" she exclaims. He takes one look at her panicked face and starts laughing. It is the first genuinely happy sound she's heard from him all day. It's almost worth his teasing.

"Relax, sugar. I wouldn't do something so cruel to my darling wife," he jokes, and leans in to press his lips against her cheek. Said cheeks immediately turn a bright red at his sudden burst of affection. She is really not used to him kissing her so freely, but she knows she has to get a handle on it her reactions. It probably looks more than a little suspicious to the Capitol onlookers. They  _are_  supposed to be married, after all. Damn Finnick and his schemes.

She  _humphs_  and leans back into his chest, forcing herself to relax against him. His only reaction is the slight pause of his fingers as his surprise jolts through him before he adjusts his body and welcomes her into his arms. This time, his fingers are a little gentler.

Katniss rolls her eyes. "This is ridiculous," she mutters, and stands up, no doubt to get away from the apparent newlyweds. She only makes it a few steps before she lets out a small sound of shock and backtracks to their little group.

"What's wrong?" Peeta immediately asks. He follows Katniss's gaze and stiffens. Finnick and Sil scramble to their feet as they all watch three red figures careening onto the beach not very far away.

"Mutts?" Katniss wonders darkly, reaching for her bow.

Sil stares at the scene in confusion. They don't look like mutts save for their red skin. In fact, they look very much like –

"Johanna!" Finnick cries, making Sil jump at the suddenness of his voice. He jerks forward, running across the beach before the others can even comprehend what's going on. But when he throws his arms around one of the red mutt-like figures, it's clear that there is no danger. At least not the sort of danger that requires a bow – though Katniss doesn't lower hers.

Sil watches the reunion with mixed emotions. Finnick is so… _free_  with Johanna. It makes her feel a little…jealous? Is she  _jealous_  of Johanna Mason? She scowls at the mere thought and crosses her arms over her knees. No way. Johanna has nothing that Sil would ever want. Not even Finnick Odair.

Still, she can't shake the feeling as the odd group makes their way to where her, Katniss, and Peeta wait. In fact, it only intensifies once Johanna has washed away the blood and sits down beside Finnick on the beach. He throws an arm around her shoulders and murmurs something to the blunt Victor from District 7, who immediately barks in laughter and nudges him playfully with her elbow.

Sil just clears her expression and tries to ignore the scene, instead turning her attention to Katniss and Wiress, who have gravitated into the ocean to clean the blood from Wiress's skin.

"Blood rain," Katniss tells her when she joins them, helping Katniss peel away the layers of Wiress's clothing. It's stuck to her skin, dried against it, and must be painful to scrape off. They go as gently as they can, but Wiress can't hide her cringes.

"This arena has everything," Sil mutters as she starts to wash the blood from Wiress's hair. "Poison fog, evil monkeys, blood rain…if only we could figure out what else we need to watch out for."

The moment she finishes speaking, the beach on the other side of the water erupts with a huge bang of thunder, and lightening singes down onto it with a resounding clash.

Sil and Katniss share a look.

"I suppose we can add 'bolts of lightening' to the list," Sil mutters dryly.

Below them, Wiress mumbles, "Tick, tock," over and over again as she stares unseeingly into the water.

Well this is just lovely. They're stuck on the beach in plain sight, have a mentally unsound Victor to take care of, and to top it all off, Johanna Mason is cozying up to her supposed husband.

Life just keeps getting better and better.


	27. In love?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which our Victors discover something important about the arena, they go to investigate, and Sil's luck takes yet another downward turn.
> 
> So we're actually coming to the close of the arena arc. Just one more chapter after this one before the story takes a totally new twist. I hope you're all looking forward to it as much as I am :)
> 
> Please enjoy, and thank you for the reviews!

 

**Chapter Twenty Seven | In love**

" _The story certainly savored of the supernatural, and though the Republic had abolished God, it had not quite succeeded in killing the fear of the supernatural in the hearts of the people." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

Katniss is the one who ends up breaking through their rut. It's her who deciphers Wiress's repeated phrase. Her endless 'tick-tock' is finally puzzled out by the most impatient one of their group. It's probably because Katniss has hardly left Wiress's side since they joined up. They're all eating an early dinner, curtsey of Finnick, when Katniss suddenly ploughs over from the water's edge, where her and Wiress had been sitting.

"The arena's a clock!" she blurts to them the moment she's within hearing range. "It's a clock – that's why the lightening on the far beach always hits at the same time every day. It's all divided into sectors."

Beetee's eyebrows immediately rise up in contemplation.

"That would explain a lot," he admits. Sil just keeps eating, as if this groundbreaking information is of little interest to her.

To be honest, Plutarch mentioned something similar during one of their hasty meetings, but unfortunately they haven't had much time to really iron everything out. She's gone into the arena nearly as blind as the others, at least concerning the layout of the place.

"After we eat, let's go to the cornucopia," Finnick suggests, glancing across the water at the gleaming structure. "We need to stock up anyway, and it'll give us an opportunity to see the whole arena from the center."

It's as good a plan as ever, so once they finish eating, they all head over to the shore. Finnick approaches Sil as the others start wading out into the water.

"You gonna be okay?" he asks, briefly touching her shoulder. His fingers flutter above it, lingering for a few seconds longer than necessary as he checks her over. She's a little worse for wear, but so is everyone else.

She huffs, "Honestly, Finnick darling. As if I'm afraid of a little water." She starts wading out into it as if to prove her words. He chuckles and watches her go, feeling oddly disconnected from her. He's not sure why, but it rather felt as if she just brushed him off.

"Don't worry, sugar, I'll save you if you start drowning," he calls before following, and she rolls her eyes.

His words actually end up being more truthful than they have any right to be, though. The trip to the cornucopia is useful, but ends in tragedy. They stock up on weapons and pick through the supplies left over from the bloodbath, but their journey doesn't go unnoticed. Peeta is in the middle of drawing up a map of the arena on a large leaf when Gloss makes his big entrance.

They don't even see him until Wiress's body is floating out to sea, and then there's a sudden scramble to avoid the sharp edges of his daggers before they find their next target. The struggle doesn't last long before Johanna hefts an ax right into his leg and he falls back, injured. From there, it only gets more confusing.

Their small island starts moving.

"Hold onto something!" Katniss yells, the voice of reason in the sudden whirlwind of motion. Sil barely manages to throw herself against the cornucopia before the spinning gets too intense, and her grip weakens with each pass. It's really no surprise when she's ripped away from it entirely.

Her fate seems better than some of the others. Beetee gets completely washed away, and Katniss is thrown into the water as well. Sil ends up landing hard on one of the stone jetties, knocking her head right into the rocks with a cry. As her world slowly starts to spin in another way, she's not sure if she'd have rather fallen head first into the water or not. She doesn't get up until she feels hands dragging her body off the ground.

Finnick looks strangely worried about her. His mouth is moving but she can't hear him, for a reason she cannot quite understand with her head pounding as it is. When he lifts his hands to her skull, her vision flares up painfully and she grimaces. And when he brings them back bloody, she figures that his concern is probably valid.

"Oh…that's a lot of red," she hears herself mumble as she stares at his hands, but she sounds far away and disembodied. It must look pretty bad with all her platinum hair, because Finnick's frown deepens.

"Is this the time when you ask how many fingers you're holding up?" she tries to joke, but it doesn't do much good.

"Finnick! You need to get Beetee - he can't swim!" Katniss shouts, and Finnick grits his teeth as he glances over his shoulder at the scene behind him. He grips Sil's arms tightly, as if the mere thought of letting her go frightens him more than he wants to admit, but doesn't argue. Instead he just calls for Johanna and leans in to press a firm kiss against Sil's cheek.

"Stay here, don't move. I'll be right back," he tells her, voice tight with worry. He doesn't leave until Johanna is within reaching distance, and Sil sighs as she watches him dive into the water to rescue their wayward intellectual.

The world seems dimmer, the sun too bright, and Sil feels suddenly nauseous. She wraps her arms around her knees and presses her forehead against them, folding her body over itself as she takes heaving breaths. She must be really out of it, because when Finnick pulls himself onto the rocks several minutes later (water sluicing over his body, wet hair falling into his eyes) she smiles stupidly and says, "You're gorgeous, Finnick Odair."

Johanna practically chokes. Finnick is momentarily caught off guard by his own amusement. Sil feels a little bit mortified that she actually said that out loud.

"I mean – gracious, I mean that you're occasionally good looking," she tells him as he kneels in front of her once more. "I suppose you're never  _ugly_  – that is, maybe gorgeous is a bit far fetched but you're definitely – "

Her words are abruptly cut off when he pulls her against him, cradling her skull gently in his hands. This time, Sil really does drown, but it is blissful and wonderful. She nuzzles closer to him and sighs. The world seems to slow down in his arms. Even her nausea seems to dissipate.

"Finnick – "

"I thought you were dead for a moment," he suddenly says, voice quiet and reverent in her ear. She stills, clutches him harder, and buries her face against his neck. She has no idea how long she'd lain there on the rocks, and he'd clearly been taken off guard when he had dragged her up. She must've scared him worse than she imagined.

"I'm fine," she tells him, and then gives him a wobbly smile as she leans back. "Just a little disoriented. To be honest, there are two of you at the moment."

His eyes flash with momentary concern before he grins and drawls, "Sounds like quite the party." But his worry still lingers, and Sil isn't quite sure what to think of it.

Of course Finnick would be worried about her, but she hadn't thought he'd be so sincere about it. It rather surprises her, though she thinks it probably shouldn't. Their relationship is hard to define, but she knows that it's a lot deeper than she thought it would be going into it.

"How is she?" Peeta asks, walking over to them. His brow is crinkled into a frown that matches Finnick's. It makes Sil feel like a child. She finds herself enjoying Finnick's onslaught of attention, but she wishes she could appear a little stronger.

It does play quite well into her mask, though.

"I'll be fine. Gracious," Sil mumbles, her voice muffled against Finnick's shoulder. The spandex material is ripped in several places and she can feel his skin against her cheekbone.

Finnick glances at Peeta and purses his mouth. They share a cautious look that Sil doesn't see because she's buried against her supposed husband.

"Get on my back, sugar," Finnick says after a pause, and she immediately turns confused.

Her head is still whirling and she thinks nothing of musing, "That sounds kinky, you know."

Peeta coughes slightly, but Finnick just chuckles and rubs her back.

"I'm going to swim you back to the shore," he clarifies a moment later, and goes to stand up. As he pulls her to her feet, he explains, "You're not in any condition to make the trip by yourself."

She has half a mind to argue, but when she starts to sway on her feet, Sil realizes that he's probably right. Besides, they have no time to waste on this little island. They've already wasted enough of it as it is, and the others appear to be getting impatient with their delay. He isn't blind to the way she sways and his concern seems to solidify.

"You guys go first, we'll follow behind," he tells the others, who don't linger to argue the order. Katniss turns to help Beetee to shore, and everyone else makes their own progress. Meanwhile, Finnick slips down into the water and braces himself against the rocks before turning to Sil.

"Come on," he says, reaching for her. She crouches on the jetty and places her hands on his broad shoulders. Finnick slides his around her waist, and he helps her down. It takes a bit of angling to wrap herself against his back, but the weightlessness of the water helps. Soon, Finnick is pushing off the jetty and into the open water. He's much less fluid with her halting his movements, but Finnick is nothing if not an amazing swimmer. He still makes it to the shore in half the time it takes the others despite her extra weight.

Once they're all gathered on the beach and everyone is accounted for, they set up camp in the shade near the jungle's edge. They figure it's probably safe to do so, considering the fact that Gloss is now injured and has most likely gone to lick his wounds. The Career pack needs time to regroup, especially considering the sheer size of their own party. With the addition of Johanna, Wiress, and Beetee, they make an impressive group of eight. Well, seven now that Wiress is gone.

Finnick doesn't leave Sil's side as he helps her sit down in the shade. He kneels next to her and carefully shifts her hair out of the way so as to get a better look at her wound. The cold of the water has given her a little more clarity and her head isn't spinning quite so much, but she's still nauseous and knows that she's concussed. Which kind of sucks, because she really wants to go to sleep.

"Ow!" she exclaims when Finnick pulls a bit at the hair near the wound. Red pain blearily scraps through her and she grits her teeth. He immediately pulls back a bit and rubs at his mouth.

"Sorry, sugar," he murmurs. "But we're gonna need to bandage it."

Her eyes widen despondently and she stares at him. "Bandage it? I'll look like a decrepit old woman!"

She figures that playing up her vanity would fit fairly well into her alter ego's shallowness, and she's right. Finnick's eyes narrow and he huffs, rolling his eyes as he starts to rip a section of his sleeve off. It's rather difficult to do; he ends up having to use his knife to tear through the material. Meanwhile Sil just stares in silence because she's not sure how she's never noticed the muscles in those arms of his. She must've been completely blind!

He notices her staring, of course, and smirks, but thankfully he doesn't comment on it and just says, "Turn your head. And hold your hair out of the way." Then he proceeds to wrap the material over the wound, which has mostly stopped bleeding by now.

Katniss doesn't seem to think that they need to do much more than that, though she does mention that she'll check it later to make sure it hasn't gotten infected. She thinks that the salt water has already cleaned the wound out pretty well and doesn't look entirely worried. Not that this surprises Sil. Katniss only ever gets worried when it comes to Peeta.

"There," Finnick says softly as he knots the makeshift bandage. He catches her chin and turns her head in his direction so he can see her face. He smiles. "You look perfectly wild. I like it." He winks for good measure.

Sil just starts lamenting the loss of what little style she's thus far maintained in the arena, and drops her body against his with a sigh. He pauses only a moment before wrapping her up in his arms and shifting her into a more comfortable position.

Peeta starts drawing up another map of the arena, as he lost the previous one back on the island. The hectic atmosphere of the last hour seems to dwindle down in the scorching sun, and the group slowly starts to knit themselves back together.

"I'm going to get some water," Katniss says after about ten minutes of watching Peeta at work. They haven't had a drink in several hours, and the mention of water makes them all perk up.

"I'll come!" Sil says, immediately jumping up to join the Girl on Fire. Finnick catches her wrist before she can even take a step.

"Are you sure you should even be walking?" he asks doubtfully, giving her that concerned stare that makes her half delighted, half chagrined.

She huffs for good measure. "It's a five meter walk, Finnick. I think I'll be fine." She pats his head like he's a puppy, and he exchanges his worried look for a scowl.

"Don't baby her," Johanna mutters gruffly as she scrapes a stone against the edge of her ax. She makes quite a fearsome sight with it propped up against her knee – her hair tangled and her mouth set in a perpetual glower.

"I'm not babying her – she hit her head pretty hard," he argues, and Sil rolls her eyes. She walks away just as Johanna says something about how it can't be the first time she's hit her head and addled her brain. Finnick's response to that isn't exactly something Sil is interested in hearing, especially considering how Finnick is usually so agreeable toward the blunt Victor from 7.

Katniss has already walked into the edge of the forest, impatient as always. By the time Sil joins her, she's already hammering the spile into a nearby trunk and there's a trickle of water pouring out of the end. The sight of it makes Sil realize just how thirsty she actually is.

That's about the time when the first scream comes.

It shatters the silence like a clap of lightening, sending wildlife scurrying away. Birds take flight, their wings pounding on the wind as they, too, scatter. Katniss immediately swivels around, her guard up. She's strung an arrow so fast that Sil is barely able to follow the movement, and has it pointed into the forest before Sil has drawn her dagger.

Oddly enough, none of the others run over to see if they're alright, despite the loudness of the scream. What's also odd is Katniss's general reaction to the voice when it comes again, moments later. In fact, rather than just a wordless scream, the next one which bellows through the forest forms the name of the Victor from 12.

It's a terrible sound, that the dragging, "KATNISS!" that screeches through the trees. Sil stiffens and shoots a stoic, careful glance at her companion just in time to see the Girl on Fire completely lose it. Before she can stop her, Katniss darts off into the undergrowth crying, "Prim!"

Sil knows that name. Primrose Everdeen. Katniss's younger sister, whom she saved a year ago when she volunteered to enter the 64th Hunger Games in her place. It is a name that most of Panem knows by now. They also know that Katniss would do just about anything for that girl. She proved that when she was willing to die in her place, in an arena far from home.

Sil pauses for a moment before darting forward as well. She catches up to Katniss quickly, following the warpath that Katniss makes in the undergrowth. When she finally reaches her companion, the Victor from 12 is standing very still in the center of a small clearing, bow string relaxed as she stares at the ground. It takes Sil a moment to figure out what, exactly, she's staring at, but when she sees the dead carcass of a bird, she connects the dots.

"Jabberyjay," Katniss spits, glaring at the dead bird with loathing. A flutter of wings sound in the treetops above, and when Sil raises her eyes, she sees several more gathering in the branches.

"Then we know that it's an engineered sound," Sil slowly says, trying to be logical about this. But Katniss is beyond logic.

She turns to Sil and insists, "Well how did they  _get_  that sound? How did they  _engineer_  it?"

Sil immediately knows where Katniss is going with this, and she steps forward cautiously. "Katniss, no one in Panem would hurt your sister. There'd be rebellions across the country if they did. Everyone loves Primrose Everdeen."

It looks like the words help, until of course another jabberjay screeches, "KATNISS, HELP ME!" in a man's voice.

Katniss pales and lurches around, lifting her bow and sending an arrow straight into one of the birds. There's a whole flock of them on the branches now, surrounding them with slowly increasing screams that seem to get louder with each passing moment.

"That's Gale," Katniss gasps, breathless with panic. She steps back and the birds hop forward. Sil swallows tightly.

"It's not Gale. It's just a – "

"Don't tell me it's engineered," Katniss snaps, "You don't  _know_   _that for sure!"_

Sil wants to argue the point, but she doesn't have time to. The jabberjays shift restlessly, and when one of them lifts itself into the air, the others follow in tandem. Soon there is a whole flock pelting towards them, screaming out in the voices of loved ones. Katniss bolts back toward the beach with a cry, and Sil has no choice but to follow. Doubt plucks at her mind.

There are other voices intermingled with Katniss's. So many other voices. Her father. Her mother. The people she's saved from Snow's clutches. Old friends. Older lovers. People she doesn't even talk to anymore, yet she can still identify.

Katniss runs head first into an invisible wall that separates them from the beach, and the rest of their companions. The others are on the opposite side, pressing up against the wall as if to force it to yield. When Peeta sees Katniss he lurches forward and starts to bang on the forcefield, and the sight seems to send Katniss into even deeper panic.

Sil just stops and stares, watching the scene with varying degrees of confusion. Finnick is there too, staring at her, his face creased into deep set worry, his lips mouthing her name over and over and over…but she just stares blankly ahead, suddenly swept up in the heavy sea of her own voices.

They are hers. She knows it because they are screaming for her. Sil Sil Sil. Save me. Get me out. Get me out.

She sighs and rubs the back of her neck, trying to block them away with minimal success. She doesn't fall to the ground like Katniss; instead she just stares into the forest with a tired expression, overcome by the sheer weight of all her ghosts.

There are so many ghosts.

She's not sure how long she stands there, staring sightlessly into the undergrowth beyond the beach. The wretched birds are everywhere, their tarry black feathers peeking out from between leaves and ferns, beady eyes blinking down at the scene of chaos below them. She can distantly hear Katniss behind her. The sobbing has transitioned into a mournful, blank silence that Sil also feels. It grafts over her skin like treacherous secrets, picking through her head and sowing seeds of doubt between every thought.

She doesn't know for certain that the ones she saves from the Capitol actually make it to 13. Coin occasionally informs her of her success when her 'clients' are more important members of Capitol society, but all the others get swept beneath the carpet.

The only thing that grounds her is the voice of her mother, considered long dead in the Capitol's eyes, that screeches out to her from above. Her mother would never scream like that; she would never allow them to get to her so thoroughly.

She isn't fully aware when the forcefield falls. All Sil knows is that suddenly someone is pulling her around and dragging her forward, and she's wrapped up in warmth as a pair of hands shifts over her hair. She blinks, and the world clears. Finnick is staring down at her with an almost panicked look in his eye. As he cups her face, his words slowly start to make sense to her blank mind.

"…Okay? Silver? Answer me," he pleads, and she furrows her brow.

"I'm fine, Finnick," she responds after a beat of silence. Her head still aches though, and she wonders if she's being completely truthful. It doesn't seem to matter; whatever she says, Finnick appears to be convinced that she is anything but fine.

He gently pulls her out of the jungle. The sight of the beach brings a palpable relief to Sil, and she allows her faux husband to get her settled in the sand. He sits next to her, grasping her hands in his and occasionally brushing his fingers over her face. It seems to reassure him somehow, so she accepts his touch without complaint.

She vaguely notices that Peeta is acting similarly with Katniss. The bitter part of her scoffs at the idea that the two power couples of Panem are actually as fake as can be.

Katniss is spluttering out a description of what they had just undergone, her voice wavering only a little when she explains the torturous nature of her sister's voice.

"There were so many," she murmurs, spearing Sil a look that makes the blonde Victor stiffen. Something lurks beneath Katniss's eyes – a certain confusion that could very well pave the way to understanding. "I recognized the ones meant for me, but there were  _dozens_  of others. Were those all for you?"

Finnick pauses as he strokes the back of Sil's hand. Sil just wrinkles her nose and puts on her best idiotic expression.

"I'm sure I must have known them at some point," she responds honestly, because the best form of lying is to be at least partially truthful. She shrugs, "But then again, I know a lot of people, Katniss darling. I'm very social."

She's about to start rambling on about her parties and the high society of Panem when Katniss furrows her brow and says, "They didn't seem like acquaintances; they were calling to you as if they thought you'd rescue them somehow. What was that about, anyway?"

Sil tries not to show her dread on her face. She had thought that Katniss was too out of it to hear Sil's demons, but the Girl on Fire is observant. Even blocking those voices out as she'd been doing during that long hour, Katniss must have noticed the strange quality of Sil's voices…and their requests of her.

She laughs and waves her hand away. "Gracious, how on earth should I know? Perhaps I rescued them from their unpopular social status during some Capitol party or some such thing. I can be very supportive when I want to be, you know."

The looks she receives are a blend of patronizing disdain and suspicion. Well, she can live with that. She supposes that her time wearing masks is nearly over anyhow – once the rebellion takes hold of Panem, then she won't have to hide anymore. The thought frightens as much as it pleases her.

She's been focusing so much on what Finnick will think of her transformation, that Sil has barely given much thought to how the others will view her. What will Katniss say? Johanna? Actually, that would be a sight to see – showing Johanna that she's actually a hell of a lot smarter than the District 7 Victor gives her credit for.

Sil's mouth turns up at the edges at the thought. Her luck seems to have replenished itself during the last few hours, because before anyone can continue the conversation, the gentle beeping sound of an incoming parachute sends them all into a flurry of motion.

It drifts slowly down to the beach, the little red light flashing against the darkening sky. Finnick scrambles up to reach it, and it lands leisurely in his palm as if it had meant to go there all the while. This parachute is bigger than the others they've received. When Finnick crouches down to open it, the size makes sense.

Twenty four rolls of bread.

Sil knows the sign. So does Finnick, it seems, because a brooding sort of expression appears on his face as he peers into the bundle. Him, Johanna, and Beetee are all in the know about the signals in the bread. Only Katniss and Peeta don't realize the significance of the gift. And Sil, or so everyone else assumes.

Twenty four rolls for twenty four hours – the amount of time remaining in the arena. Time is running out, and their plan is still in its beginning stages.

"Dinner is served," Finnick says, wiping his contemplative expression with a charming smile. As he carries the food over to the group, he appears less brooding and more open.

"Good, I'm starved," Johanna mumbles, reaching for one of the rolls.

Finnick bats her hand away with an amused smirk. The scowl that attaches itself to Johanna's mouth is downright fearsome. Sil makes a mental note to never get in the way of Johanna and her food.

"Ah ah ah – " Finnick tsks, "We should make a proper meal of it. I'll see if I can find some oysters to go with it."

Mention of other food seems to placate the glowering Victor. Finnick hands the bread off to Peeta for safekeeping and turns to Sil.

"Come on, a little fishing will be good for you," he suggests.

To Sil, it sounds more like a demand and she immediately whines, "I'm injured and exhausted!"

Finnick just laughs. He gently taps a knuckle against her forehead and tells her, "Are you saying you don't want to see me shirtless?" He winks.

She scoffs and mutters, "I can see you just fine from the beach…"

But she doesn't seem to have a choice and, to be honest, Sil doesn't really mind when Finnick drags her over to the shore with an eagerness that make him younger, more boyish. She laughs when he splashes water at her, and for the first time since she's arrived in the arena, Sil doesn't even remember that the whole of Panem is watching their every move.


	28. You are the center of this torrent,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which all of their plans go sideways. Well, not all of them.
> 
> Next chapter will mark the beginning of the new arc! Hope you all like this update :)

 

**Chapter Twenty Eight | You are the center of this torrent**

" _She was so close to him that her soft, loose hair was wafted against his cheek; her eyes, glowing with tears, maddened him, the music in her voice sent fire through his veins." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

Twenty four hours left, and they are all sleeping. It's a necessary evil, Sil supposes. They need to get their strength up after the trying events of the last few days, but she still feels impatient. Finnick notices, of course. It's difficult not to when he's got her trapped against his chest and she keeps shifting around. ('Trapped' is probably a subjective word, but still.)

She knows the plans by heart, the manner in which they're going to get out of the arena. What comes after, too. Katniss and the others will be saved, and she…well, Sil has always known, in some way, that she is a pawn to District 13 just as much as she is to the Capitol. She's more use near President Snow, and like a mindless chess piece, she will move where the player wants her to. Even if it sends her to her death.

She shifts again, unable to find sleep even in the comfort of Finnick's arms. Arms that had wrapped around her in a surprisingly easy manner – another thoughtless but wildly significant action. Her heart aches when she allows herself to think, for one brief moment, that this man will soon be gone from her life, separated by the ironclad boundaries between the Capitol and the core of the rebellion. A rebellion that she has spent the better half of her life envisioning.

He will find out, soon, about who she is. It makes her shiver with a strange mix of adrenaline – a cocktail of fear and excitement.

"Sil, would you stop moving around so much? Some of us are trying to sleep," Finnick's tired voice whispers through the dark. He doesn't sound angry; just resigned and exhausted. She stops moving immediately, turning stiff as a board against him.

He sighs dramatically and jostles her closer, tucking his hand around her knee and jutting her leg up over the both of his. The move is just shy of unseemly, yet all Sil can think about is how perfectly her body fits to his, like a hidden message she's only just ciphered.

"Finnick," she mumbles against his chest, then trails off, because she's not sure if she means to chastise him or not. His fingers shift up her back in long, oddly comforting movements. Fire blisters in the wake of his touch.

"What is it?" he wonders quietly. His voice is softer now, gentler in a way she can't quite describe, only that it sounds intimate and she finds that she very much likes the depth of it.

Before she can answer, he frowns and lifts his hand to her head, where he had tied a piece of his own shirt around her to bind her headwound. In a firmer voice, he asks, "Are you feeling okay? It doesn't hurt, does it? Because I could take a look at – "

"'M fine, Finnick," she interrupts, and flicks the underside of his jaw.

She tells herself that the reason for the action is only because she's annoyed at all his worrying. At the way she's never quite sure if he means it or if he's only doing it for the cameras; creating a big, whirlwind love affair because it's what the Capitol expects. But really, she touches him because she's always wanted to run her fingers over his jaw and the light blonde stubble on it and this is probably as close as she's ever going to get.

He stops talking immediately, then grumbles, "Fine," as if he doesn't really want to admit that he  _had_  been worrying about her like a mother hen.

She turns her head a little to look up at him. It's a little too dark to get a clear image of his features. They had forgone a fire, not knowing where the Career pack is and not wanting to draw unnecessary attention to their beachside camp. Still, despite the lack of light, she's close enough to be able to admire the strong curve of his jaw and the shadows of his eyelashes as they dust across his cheeks.

She smirks, and taps a finger against his chin, dragging it over his jaw and tracing the edge of it. She figures that, since she won't be seeing much of him in the weeks to come, she might as well enjoy him while she can.

He catches her hand in his before she can reach his ear, tightening his fingers around hers and looking down at her. One of his eyebrows curve upward into the perfect expression of dry surprise.

"What?" Sil wonders, and mirrors the look.

His mouth twitches up. "Nothing," he murmurs. There's a strange look on his face when he leans down to press a kiss against her temple. Something like a mix of tired hope and confusion. Sil sees it only briefly and doesn't have time to contemplate it, because the next moment Finnick is whispering very quietly in her ear.

"D'you think we're being broadcasted right now?"

His voice is shrouded in an almost irresistible mischief that Sil can't help but reciprocate. She hums softly and turns her head so that her face is millimeters away from his. In a suggestive voice, she responds, "Undoubtably."

Honestly, unless the Careers are in the middle of enacting some evil plan that will kill them all, the cameras are definitely on the two of them. What else are the late night Capitolite viewers going to want to watch? Pictures of ferns, or the pure sexual energy that is Finnick Odair?

His mouth curves up into a full blown smirk. "Well, should we give them a little show?"

His lips just barely dip against hers as he speaks. She's not sure if it's a result of talking (they are really close after all), or if he means for it to happen. Though knowing Finnick, nothing he ever does is accidental. He is a maelstrom of purpose even when his back is against the wall. Literally and figuratively.

Sil pretends to think. Well, perhaps she's not really pretending. Her thoughts once again converge on the familiar fear of him doing all this for show. Meanwhile her heart thrums for him and tells the rest of her to shut up and just enjoy it, because she definitely will. By now, she's a little tired of the circular thoughts, and so Sil just decides to damn it all to hell – she'd better get in as many of his irresistible kisses while she still can.

Instead of answering verbally, Sil just leans in and captures his mouth with hers.

He seems a little surprised, at first, at her brash move. She's aware that she's been acting a little off from her usual ditzy persona. Perhaps that's part of it – or maybe, just maybe, Finnick is as taken with her kisses as she is with his. It's a pleasing thought and she hopes it's not a stretch of the actual truth.

But he responds so beautifully. In less than a moment, Sil is suddenly being pressed into the sand and Finnick is following her, legs tangling together as he takes the kiss up a notch. She clings to him tightly, fingers clenching down around his bicep as she gasps against his mouth. He certainly takes advantage of said gasp. Before she can even get her thoughts centered again, his tongue is sweeping across her bottom lip and pulling it into his mouth, and she is lost to him like a wave circling the open ocean.

Desire takes her so quickly that Sil could almost forget that they are being watched. The masses of Panem are observing and nothing in the arena is sacred. She wants to forget so badly, wants to drag Finnick into the depths of her passion – show him everything he does not yet see. But as always she is forced to hold back, forced to only skim the surface of herself. Of what she feels for him.

Instead of delving deeper, she allows the kiss to linger in the recesses of the superficial.

It does not feel so very superficial, though. Finnick is cupping her face with one hand – the other is caressing her neck as his elbow props him up. His lower half is completely pressing down against her, pinning her in the very best way to the earth and sand below their bodies. They are a tangle. Of what, Sil is only beginning to understand, but she fears that getting  _untangled_  from Finnick Odair will be a lot harder than falling into it.

"Finnick," she murmurs, threading her fingers through his hair. A week in the arena and the strands are flatter and less shiny, but Sil doesn't even notice. She pulls him closer, her tongue twisting over his. The rebellious act has him gasping, and then suddenly he's careening into her with a wilder, fiercer energy, as if he's been searching for her his entire life and has just been dragged into the light.

It doesn't last of course. Before they can continue any further, Johanna's disgusted voice cuts through the night when she hisses, "Would you two  _please_  stop humping each other? I'm trying to sleep."

The unsophisticated word has Sil frowning, until she realizes that Johanna is partially right. (Though she'd never admit to such an atrocious thing.) Finnick is pressed so diligently against her that it definitely looks a little more scandalous than it actually is. That's about the time when Sil remembers the audience they have. The one that spans several million people across Panem.

She pushes Finnick away with a vivid blush that she hopes no one can see. The darkness is good for one thing, at least, and saving face is something that her alter ego would cling to in such a time. Thankfully Finnick doesn't argue; he merely gives her a wolfish smirk and rolls over onto his back, taking up the space beside her.

Sil throws an arm over her eyes as if it will help to block out…well, everything. Finnick, the arena, Johanna's scoffing, the fact that her father is definitely watching these games and probably just saw –

"Oh  _damn,"_  Sil moans, face heating up even more. Her father. Gracious. Why hadn't she thought of  _that_  before she let Finnick wipe her mind with that extraordinary kiss?

Beside her, Finnick chuckles. "Funny. I was thinking the same exact thing." He winks.

Sil wrinkles her nose at him and scowls. "Gracious, Finnick. I'll bet my father saw everything you did to me just now." She blushes prettily.

He raises an eyebrow and pulls himself up onto his elbow to look down at her. In a slightly incredulous voice (slightly, mind you), Finnick asks, "Everything  _I_ did to you?  _You_  were the one who started it. Couldn't get enough of me, could you?"

There's this terrible, delightful, confusing amusement in his voice that makes Sil want to laugh and cry simultaneously. Sometimes she really hates her annoying feelings for him.

She humphs and mutters, "As if. You suggested it in the first place."

He smirks, "Mmhmm. And you jumped right on board like you've been dreaming about kissing me for days. Have you?"

Having barely even heard him (she's trying to block him out), Sil raises a brow and dryly asks, "Have I what?"

Finnick tilts his head and shuffles closer, until he's close enough that she can feel his breath spin out over her cheek when he says, "Have you thought about kissing me as much as I've thought about kissing you?"

Oh, he's good. The Capitol is probably eating this shit up. Though it's rather odd, because when Sil peers up at him he doesn't look like he's making it all up. He looks entirely serious, and usually she can tell when he's messing around. It…it makes her a bit…damn. It makes her want to kiss him again.

Her silent response must be enough of one, because Finnick smirks wider and leans down to brush his lips over her cheekbone. When she shivers, he chuckles lightly and murmurs, "I guess that's a yes. Not that I'm surprised. I mean, who wouldn't want to do unmentionable things to me – ow!"

She elbows him hard enough to send him flying onto his back once more and glowers at him over her shoulder.

"Just shut up and go to sleep, Finnick," Sil mumbles. He laughs. Apparently he's got a fast recovery time.

"Oh alright, if you insist," he sighs, but her brush-off doesn't stop him from rolling into her and pulling her back against his chest. Against her hair, Finnick whispers, "Dream sweet dreams of me, sugar." And Sil huffs.

Several feet away, Johanna rolls her eyes and flops onto her side. She's had enough of star-crossed lovers to last her a lifetime.

* * *

When it comes, the morning is deceptively bright. Sil wakes up hot and sweaty in a cocoon of burning sand. Finnick has left her side already and is off splashing in the water, probably catching breakfast. They have some leftover bread that Katniss is dividing between them, and Johanna is passing the time sharpening her ax, as she's been inclined to do during the boring spells in their group. Sil is the last one who wakes up.

She dawdles over to the shore to splash some water on her face and cool herself down. Finnick sends her a wink from where he stands, waist deep in the water. She glowers at him and tosses her limp hair over one shoulder as if to silently berate him. It doesn't really work and she's not surprised.

"Morning, sugar," he calls to her, returning his gaze to the water as he fishes for mussels. "I had a dream where you and I went skinny dipping in District 4." The corner of his mouth quirks up and Sil groans.

" _Do_  shut up, Finnick," is all she says in return. He laughs and looks back at her again.

"Now's the time when you tell me what kind of wet dream you had about me," he tells her.

Sil rolls her eyes and drawls, "Alright then. I dreamt you were drowning in the ocean and I was laughing at you as I told you stories about sea monsters and krakens." She gives him a pinning stare.

He blinks, then mutters, "That wasn't exactly what I meant when I said 'wet dream', sugar."

Sil only shrugs and turns away. Over her shoulder she calls, "Maybe you should be more specific, my love." He just grumbles and doesn't respond.

When Sil returns to the group, as refreshed as one can be in an arena full of death, the others are cloistered around Beetee, who is saying something about a lightening tree. Oddly, he gives Sil a heavy look when she approaches that makes her a little uncomfortable, because it rather feels as if he is seeing through her. She gives him her best idiotic, too-wide smile just to be thorough.

"What are you all prattling on about?" Sil wonders, sounding a bit patronizing. She sits down and starts to braid her tangled hair back as the others give her annoyed glances.

"We're not prattling, you idiot," Johanna snaps, "we're making a plan to kill off the Careers. Go get Finnick." The order is useless. Not because Sil refuses, but because the moment his name is said aloud, Finnick appears behind them.

"Missed me already, Jo?" he asks with a smirk, arms laden with breakfast. Johanna would have probably snapped at him, too, if not for the fact that he'd been very successful in his search for mussels.

"Now that we're all here, I can update you both on the idea Katniss just gave me," Beetee says, and gestures for Finnick to sit. He does, and they divvy up breakfast as Beetee weaves a pre-made plan about breaking out of the arena. Of course it's all an act, as most things are in Sil's world. Externally, the plan isn't any more rebellious than their breakfast, but beneath the surface…well. Coins are funny like that; there are always two sides to the same one.

Sil already knows the plan. Still, she listens raptly as Beetee explains everything, from the lightening tree to the gory death that they have in store for the Careers. And she fills in the blanks, too, knowing all too well the effect that this plan will have on the outcome of the Games.

"Well it looks like we have our work cut out for us," Finnick says as he breaks off a piece of bread from District 4. There are flecks of green in the dough – seaweed, apparently. Sil sticks to her own bread from home, which has a cake-like consistency and melts in her mouth with true District 1 decadence.

"We'd better get started," Beetee says in his usual sage tone. "We've got a lot of preparing to do."

He's right, of course. With only a matter of hours to go, they still have to set the wire up, find a way to separate Katniss and Peeta so as to cut out her tracker, cut out all the  _other_  trackers, and ensure that the end of the wire ends up in the water. First things first, they need to go stake out the area around the lightening tree.

After they finish breakfast, they pack up camp. Thanks to the map Peeta had drawn up, it's relatively easy to move through the sectors to the one in which the lightening tree resides. They make it there just after the sun hits the high point in the sky, and gather around the trunk of the hulking tree.

It's a gnarled, blackened thing: dead wood without leaves and hollow looking branches that stretch out like the spokes of a broken wheel. The ground around it is similarly dead, as if the lightening blasts have poisoned the soil.

Beetee approaches it slowly, stepping up to the trunk and placing his hand against the bark. He looks up at the sheer size of it, adjusting his glasses as if he's contemplating something of great mathematical proportion. Knowing him, he probably is.

"Will we have enough wire?" Johanna asks, breaking the silence. She holds up the heavy spool with a slightly doubtful expression, bending a piece of the wire between her fingers. Even though it appears thin, it takes her some difficulty.

They will have enough wire. Plutarch had made sure of that. As Head Gamemaker, he'd been able to get approximate calculations of the distance between the beach and the tree. The amount of wire they have will not be a problem. The problem lies in accomplishing everything else.

Beetee looks back at Johanna and nods. "There should be plenty." He mentions something about having engineered the wire himself, but Sil is too busy thumbing over the indent of the tracker lodged in her forearm. She has her own mission here in this arena, and that is the complete opposite of the others. She knows Finnick will try to cut it out of her for her own protection, but she cannot allow him to. When she returns to the Capitol, there cannot be any indication that she is a part of the rebellion. She needs to be able to play the harmless, stupid Victor if she's going to survive Snow's anger and suspicion.

While Beetee wrangles Finnick and Peeta's help in securing the wire to the trunk of the tree, Sil wanders off a ways in contemplative silence. She is so wrapped up in her thoughts that Johanna calls her name twice before Sil realizes it. The final time, the Victor from 7 sounds even more perturbed than usual.

"Did you hit your head again or are you just stupid?" Johanna asks with a sneer, and Sil blinks.

A chortle of laughter pitches from Sil's throat and she gives Johanna one of her too-wide smiles, "Dear me, Johanna, how polite you are. It honestly amazes me sometimes." She smiles prettily while Johanna rolls her eyes.

"Listen," the gruff Victor starts, glancing around to ensure that the others aren't within hearing distance. When she turns back to Sil, her eyes are vivid and determined. "I know Finnick hasn't told you anything – "

"Finnick tells me  _everything,_  darling," Sil interrupts with a flourish of her hand. "My husband doesn't keep secrets from me."

She says it for the Capitol viewers, not for Johanna, and the other Victor obviously knows that. As a fellow Victor, Johanna understands the need to play their role for the Capitol audience. It doesn't appear to make her any less annoyed at being interrupted, though.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Johanna mutters, "I just think he should've explained things better to you. Though God knows you'd be too stupid to grasp it."

Sil hums as if she's only half listening. In truth, she's swept up in two things: one, Johanna is actually talking to her willingly. Two, she's talking to her about their plans to break out of the arena.

It doesn't surprise her that Johanna would think so lowly of her. What  _does_  surprise her is that she actually thinks that Finnick should have told her about the plans beforehand. It feels very strange to be on the receiving end of Johanna's sympathy – however reluctant and skewed it probably is.

None of them know, naturally, that Sil had known about these plans before any of them. That she knows a hell of a lot more than they themselves know. This is a dangerous conversation, Sil muses as she idly glances up into the trees. There are ears everywhere, and she can't be seen talking to Johanna in such an amiable manner. (Amiable for  _her,_  Sil corrects.)

When she returns to the Capitol, Snow must have no suspicions about Sil. It is imperative. And exchanging such pretty words with Johanna, of all people? Sil's not an expert, per se, but it does seem a little off. So instead of delving deeper into this odd conversation, Sil decides to spin it around entirely.

She sends Johanna one of those smiles that are so obviously fake and simpers, "Darling, I understand  _completely."_

For a moment, Johanna seems utterly taken aback. "You do?" she asks, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

Sil nods and chirps, "Of course! Finnick's already told me about your special relationship. He sees you as such a good friend, but nothing more. He's  _desperately_  in love with me, you know. Heart, body, and soul, as they say. They all belong to me – see for yourself." She holds up the pearl ring and flashes it at Johanna as if she's staking her territory. Inside, she's just cringing.

So is Johanna, who looks like she's about to vomit and punch her simultaneously. (Sil hopes, for her own sake, that she doesn't – she already feels dreadful as it is.)

"Ugh. I don't know why I even bothered," Johanna mutters after a long moment spent grappling with her words. And her disgust, most likely.

Sil just shrugs and watches Johanna stalk away angrily, muttering to herself beneath her breath as she goes.

* * *

It's early evening by the time Beetee is satisfied with the wire. A quarter of the tree trunk is wrapped with it, and it gleams a coppery gold in the dying light. There's still a good amount of wire left on the spool, which Beetee hands off to Johanna and starts dishing out instructions.

"It's almost time," he says, voice solemn. "Johanna, you and Katniss should head down to the beach and unravel that wire. Finnick, Peeta, and Silver will stay with me."

Predictably, Katniss has something to say about  _that._

"No," she immediately refuses, eyes glinting with determination. "There's no way. Peeta stays with me."

To everyone's surprise, Sil is the one who rolls her eyes and sees reason. "Gracious, Katniss, there's no need to be so suspicious all the time. Laying out the wire is a two person job after all."

In all honesty, Sil is just trying to smooth things out so that the plan will have the right outcome. Katniss needs to be separated from Peeta, that way Johanna can cut out Katniss's tracker without inciting the vengeful wrath of an overprotective man too in love to think straight. If Katniss's tracker isn't removed then the whole plan will fail.

Naturally, everyone turns to her with raised brows. She raises her own in response and shrugs, "What?  _I_  can't go. My hands are already  _blistered_  and  _cracking."_  She holds them up to her face with a frown, as if the very idea galls her.

Katniss tilts her head skyward as if she's saying a silent prayer. Johanna doesn't even try hiding her disgust, though she noticeably doesn't complain with Sil's ridiculous reasoning.

Beetee clears his throat. "Besides," he says, "I need bodyguards in case the Careers wander over here before we're ready."

Peeta frowns and glances at Sil. "Is it really safe for Silver, then? Shouldn't she go with Katniss?"

They all hesitate and Sil just pretends to pick dirt out of her fingernails. Is she surprised that she's the only one without a solid part to play in this plan? No. She has her own agenda. It doesn't really matter where she goes as long as her tracker stays lodged in her arm.

Finnick is the one who decides her fate when he says, "She stays. It's safer with us, that way I can make sure she's protected." He says it firmly, with conviction, as if he truly does believe himself capable of such a thing. She wants to believe it too, but Sil knows all too well that he won't be able to protect her from what's coming.

Regardless, Beetee seems to agree and Johanna appears all the happier for it. She's no doubt pleased that she doesn't have to babysit the 'naïve, witless' Victor during one of the most crucial points of the plan. Not that Sil would get in her way. She knows what's at stake should they fail, and it isn't pretty.

Katniss looks like she wants to keep arguing the matter, so Sil quickly says, "I wouldn't be much help anyway, Katniss darling. I wasn't made for this kind of espionage…stuff." She flutters her eyelashes, voice pitched in her overdramatic District 1 accent. The way her words come out is a perfect blend of inanity and general foppishness, which certainly works to her favor because Katniss snorts and promptly ignores her.

"Fine," she grumbles, grabbing the wire from Johanna and glancing over at Peeta. The Girl on Fire hesitates only a moment before she rushes over to him, and they all get to witness one of the 'greatest star-crossed kisses of all time' – or, at least, until the arena explodes and they're all blacklisted as wanted criminals. Sil just fans her face and looks politely away, not particularly interested in watching them lock lips.

"Great," Johanna mutters. "Just tell us when you're finished that way we can actually start this."

For once, Sil is grateful for the heavy dose of sarcasm in Johanna's voice. It definitely reaps results, because Katniss abruptly pulls away, suddenly remembering that they have a rather large audience and they really do need to get started on their plan.

Finnick just chuckles. He's always amused when Katniss gets embarrassed.

"Come on," Johanna grumbles, jerking her head in the direction of the beach. Katniss sends Peeta one more glance before following the stoic Victor. Sil watches them until they disappear into the foliage, then turns to the others with a bright, foppish smile.

"So…what are we supposed to do again?"

Beetee, Peeta, and Finnick just sigh.

Sil isn't sure how long they wait there, idling the time by. Midnight is fast approaching and she knows that time is slipping away. She waits with baited breath near Finnick, rubbing her hands over her shivering arms. The jungle is colder at night, much like the dry desert air, and her thin suit offers little protection.

Finnick notices. He swings an arm up over her shoulders and draw her close, batting away her hands and replacing them with his own.

"Cold?" he wonders rhetorically as he warms her up. She leans against him and nods pitiably, a childish pout turning up her mouth.

"How much longer do we have to wait?" she complains, mostly to herself. But Beetee hears, and hums thoughtfully as he looks up at the sky.

"It won't be long now. We should start moving to another sector. I don't fancy getting electrocuted," he adds, and it's so strangely joking that they all stare at him. He clears his throat and waves them to follow.

"Good, we can get out of this wretched jungle," Sil mutters. Finnick gives her a dry smile and pulls her along beside him.

They walk for a while, Beetee and Peeta at the front and them behind, until Sil realizes that Finnick is purposefully putting distance between them and the others. She's a little skeptical about this until he turns to her and murmurs, "Sil, wait a second, would you? I have something to tell you."

She pauses, peering longingly after Beetee and Peeta before sighing and turning to her supposed husband.

"What is it? I want to get back to the beach," she says, voice wavering over a complaint that's only a little dishonest. She truly does want to leave the jungle. She hates it here in this arena. But she also doesn't want to be alone with him because she's got a bad feeling that he'll try to cut out her tracker.

Finnick pushes her gently against a nearby tree. She lets him, a confused expression painted on her face. She tucks her forearm tightly against her stomach just in case. As much as she longs for him to cut the tracker out of her and escape the arena by his side, Sil knows she can't let him. And if this is a ploy to do just that…well, she's going to have to let him down.

But it doesn't seem that way. In fact, Finnick starts speaking so quickly and lowly that Sil is left miles behind, uncertain as to where he's going with this.

"I should've told you sooner – I don't know why I didn't. It's not that I don't trust you, Sil, please believe that," he blurts, speaking against her ear so as to avoid having the cameras pick up their conversation. "I don't want to drag you into this. You're so…so delicate. I don't want anything happening to you because of me, and – Christ. What I'm trying to say is – "

"Oh, Finnick," Sil breathes, her voice verging on a laugh. Her mouth shifts up into a halfhearted smile and she turns her head. They're so close that she can count his eyelashes.

She doesn't want to hear him spill his big 'secret', so she decides to thoroughly catch him off guard in another way.

"I love you too," she tells him with one of her too-wide grins. She probably looks ridiculous but she doesn't care. Because even though she means it desperately, she needs it to look silly, foppish, insincere almost. She needs to make him so surprised that he completely forgets why he dragged her over here in the first place.

She knows it works when his only response is to blink in shock, mouth flapping open once or twice before settling on a surprised and slightly breathless,  _"…What?"_

Sil simpers. His shock makes her heart pound just a little in her chest, flaring with a pain that she carefully shucks away, out of sight. Instead of wallowing in the dismay of his obvious alarm, she forces her voice into a playful, "That's what you were going to say, weren't you? That you love me one last time? Just in case something goes wrong? Finnick darling, there's no need to waste words. Just kiss me already."

He looks like a fish out of water. His baffled expression would have been a little amusing to Sil, if she isn't about to get captured by the Capitol and quite possibly tortured for information.

Finnick is clearly too shocked to do anything even remotely related to kissing, so Sil takes it into her own hands when she curls them around his neck and pulls him down to her level. Her lips are pressing against his before he even knows what's going on, and his shock prevents Finnick from reciprocating for the first few seconds. But after that…well, Sil can be very persuasive when she wants to be.

He groans and pushes her firmly against the tree, body pressed diligently to hers as he finally returns her kiss. He truly is an amazing kisser. Sil nearly forgets what she's doing when his hands come up to her waist and he thumbs over her hips. She threads her fingers through his hair and opens her mouth to him. When their tongues meet, a shiver of bright desire captures her wholeheartedly.

"You love me?" he asks, almost as if he is begging her to say it again. A part of her wonders, vaguely, why he's so easily falling for her trap. Surely he can't actually want her to love him? Surely he doesn't love her back? But she thinks, for one brief moment, that perhaps he  _does,_  and everything that's ever been missing in her life suddenly falls into place.

"Mmm," she responds, kissing him fiercely – too fierce for words. Her body careens into his, and she tilts her head to the side to deepen their kiss. Their noses brush, their breaths hot and heavy. Sil realizes that this is actually the first time they've ever kissed quite like  _this, w_ ith such fire and passion.

It's beautiful and she wants more, but she doesn't get it.

Finnick's hands are tightening around her waist when the sky suddenly lights up with a brilliant clash of sound, and then both pull away with a gasp, remembering a little too suddenly that they are in the arena and therefore not truly safe. And then the plan slowly comes back to them, and Finnick lets out a curse that sounds particularly foul after the way he's just used his mouth.

"The lightening – shit," he mutters. He turns to her abruptly and grabs her arm. For a moment Sil thinks he means to cut her tracker out and she tries to pull away, but he doesn't let her. Her mind is still spinning traitorously when he drags her behind him and starts running toward the beach, shouting for Beetee and Peeta.

They're still a little too close to the lightening tree, but it's too late to run and – instead of finding Beetee and Wiress, they stumble upon one person that couldn't have picked a worse time to ask for a fight.

Finnick is ahead of her, so naturally he sees Brutus first. He seems so surprised to suddenly run into him that he just skids to a stop, making Sil bump into him from behind. She reaches up to rub her nose as she peers around his body. The sight of Brutus is not one that she's very happy about. Frowning, Sil tightens her grasp of Finnick's hand and hisses, "Finn – "

He whirls around to look at her, eyes dark in the dull sheen of moonlight, and purses his mouth. It doesn't take an genius to figure out why. He's wondering what he's going to do, how he's going to deal with Brutus without Sil getting caught in the crossfire. And – they can't linger here. They have to find the others as fast as they can, or going to District 13 will be a lost dream.

Sil squares her shoulders. Across the way, Brutus chuckles. "First the Girl on Fire and now you two? It must be my lucky day."

His mention of Katniss makes both Finnick and Sil tense up. They hadn't heard a canon blast, but that doesn't mean Katniss isn't injured. Has Brutus gotten a hold of her after all their hard work and planning?

The District 2 Victor smirks and raises his spear in a threatening manner. He steps towards them, eyes landing on Sil, and sneers, "I've got a bone to pick with you, girl."

Finnick pulls her behind him and holds his trident up. "Are you sure you want to do this, Brutus? It's two against one."

As expected, Brutus laughs at this and says, "Maybe one and a half. Cornelius was good at her little tricks on the wrestling mats, I'll give her that, but let's see how well she fares in a real fight."

Sil feels the hand on her arm tighten at the words. She glances up at Finnick, only to find him looking at Brutus with a measured, cold expression, as if he is strategizing the best course of action that should be taken. She can't recall ever seeing his face reflect such a countenance before, but then again, they've never been in a situation quite like this. She still can't believe how their luck had taken such a quick downward turn. They have mere minutes before the lightning bolts that are already peppering the sky increases in number. Mere minutes to get Finnick back to the others, lest he fall prey to a fate similar to hers.

She would not want him in the Capitol for the life of her. What horrors he has experienced before will be nothing to what he will experience should he find himself in Snow's grasp now. The fury of their president will know no bounds – a fact that she has been only far too thoughtful of these past few days. The weak and useless Victor that she portrays should be at least somewhat trustworthy in the eyes of the Capitol. Silver Lamprey Cornelius should not have a rebellious bone in her body. This assumption of her character is what she has relied on for years now, and that hasn't changed since entering the arena.

Still, she can't just allow Brutus to ruin all their plans, no matter how much she needs to appear as useless as possible upon her re-entrance into Capitol society.

"Don't worry, sugar," Finnick murmurs to her, keeping his eyes fixated on Brutus. He squeezes her arm briefly before letting her go, adjusting his grip on his trident and hefting it into the air with both hands. The corner of his mouth rises in what almost looks like a lighthearted smile, but it's rather obvious that there is nothing lighthearted about it. "I've got this. You should look for the others."

Sil just rolls her eyes, not that he sees. She isn't surprised that he is trying to brush her off for her own protection. She knows she hasn't exactly come across as the strongest Victor since the start of the Games. She'd like to claim that it was her plan to act in this manner, and it partially was, but in truth, she is far better at covert operations over face to face combat. Not that she lacks the training for the latter.

She's District 1, after all, and she's been through the normal education of any District 1 citizen. Even without the additional training she's had since her first Games, Sil can hold her own – if she tries.

Finnick is very surprised when she nudges him out of the way and drawls, "Finnick my love, why don't you give the poor man what he wants? I'm a popular commodity you know. We mustn't hold out on our dear friend."

Brutus raises an eyebrow at her words. Finnick purses his lips.

"Stop being difficult, Silver – " he starts, but Brutus isn't exactly the most patient man, or the most verbose.

"You heard the girl, Odair," he sneers, and launches forward.

What happens next is a series of movements that are nearly too fast for the naked eye to track. Brutus, though physically imposing, is quick enough on his feet, but Sil's shorter stature makes her quicker. For a moment, Finnick feels almost like a ghost watching from above – half there, half not, as if his presence there in the jungle isn't even accounted for. He can only watch as Brutus's spear comes hurtling down towards Sil's head, its tip gleaming with sinister moonlight. And really, he has seen Sil's fast reactions before, has witnessed them on more than one occasion, but he can only stop and stare as she catches the side of the spear with the flat side of her knife and brackets herself against the momentum of Brutus's swing. She can't fully halt the movement, but she does alter its path as she ducks and shifts to Brutus's side, landing a swift kick to his gut as she goes.

Brutus is a capable fighter though. He barely feels the kick, and after their wrestling match during training, he's more accustomed to Sil's quick movements than he might've been had they not dueled previously. He catches himself before the altered momentum of his blow can truly displace his weight, and swings around to face her with another hurtling swing of his spear.

Sil is ready, and this time, so is Finnick.

He jumps into action, but he doesn't try to push Sil out of the way. Perhaps it is because there is no time to – perhaps he doesn't want to distract either of them by taking an action that, apparently, she doesn't need. Perhaps he thinks that she is not quite as useless as she always makes herself out to be. It doesn't matter. What matters is that, as they join forces, the pair of them are actually very good together.

Sil can't stop to wonder why, but she supposes that it has something to do with the fact that they've already spent so much time together. They know each other's tells by now, can read each other's expressions. And Brutus may be more imposing than them, but he isn't the only Career in this fight.

They are all Careers. They were raised learning how to defend themselves.

Finnick thrusts his trident forward, trying to catch Brutus in the side. Brutus shifts at the last moment and manages to avoid the thrust. While he's distracted, Sil sweeps her leg out in an effort to unbalance him, but Brutus already knows that particular move and jumps to avoid that, too. He reaches forward to grab Sil's wrist, twisting it before she can try to use the knife she's holding. She flows with the movement though, turning her body in time with his twist and darting around him. The movement – coupled with the way Finnick is thrusting his trident forward again – forces Brutus to release her, though not without a harsh squeeze. Her wrist flares with pain, but it isn't strong enough to distract her.

"What did you do to Katniss?" Finnick demands as his trident clashes with Brutus's spear. There's a coldness to his tone. His concern over the status of the Girl on Fire, and subsequently, the rebellion, does not show in the planes of his face, but Sil can hear it plain as day in his tone.

Brutus wouldn't care even if it did show. He scoffs and says, "Enobaria stumbled upon her and Mason. I left her to deal with them and decided to hunt down the rest of you." He heaves Finnick's trident away and grunts, "Enobaria likes to play with her food. There's no telling what's happened."

Finnick glowers at him and barely manages to sidestep the swing that Brutus takes at his head. He glances at Sil as he does, looking to see if she's alright. For such a tiny Victor, she seems wholly unafraid as she meets his eyes. Maybe it's the light of the moon that casts such a strange shadow over her face, but she does not seem like herself.

He doesn't have time to study the way her eyes cut through the darkness though. Brutus hasn't forgotten her presence, and the next moment, he's shoving Finnick backwards and turning to Sil with a leering smile grazing the paths of his face. Finnick, not expecting to be shoved so brutally, ends up stumbling back.  The movement is so sudden that he catches his heel on the gnarled twist of a root. He feels himself fall just as he watches Brutus lunge at Sil, barreling into her with such force that the both of them go toppling over.

He grunts, hitting the ground hard. As he scrambles up, it feels almost as if the world has slowed down. His gaze immediately turns to watch as Sil pushes Brutus off of her with a strength that he didn't know she had. The next moment, she's rolling him into the dirt and he's reaching up to grapple at her neck, his fingers tight around her. She doesn't try to scrabble uselessly at his hands, despite the fact that she can't breathe. Her strength doesn't compare to Brutus's. No, her strength lies elsewhere.

"Sil – " Finnick grunts, pushing himself up. He's just getting to his feet when he sees Sil groping over Brutus's frame with desperate fingers. To an onlooker, it makes for a strange sight, until she finds what she's looking for.

There's a dagger hidden at his side. She had felt it when he'd ran into her and threw her to the ground. She snatches it up now, much to Brutus's surprise, and doesn't even hesitate when she uses her upward momentum to sink it into his chest.

Brutus's expression morphs into shock. His grip immediately loosens from her neck, and Finnick arrives to pull Sil off of him and drag her back. He stares at Brutus carefully, holding his trident close in case the wound isn't enough to keep him down. But it's clear that it is. The canon that tears through the sudden silence is proof enough of that, as does the way the life drains from his eyes.

Finnick turns to stare at Sil, studying her face and wondering at the unflinching way she gazes at Brutus. She looks at once cold and emotionless, far from the fop that he knows so well, with her too-wide smiles and her shining eyes. She looks like the creature that had stared at him from the screen of the television back in the District 4 suite. The new Victor from District 1, who had killed to ensure her survival, just like every other.

She does not look like the woman he had just kissed, or the woman who had just told him that she loved him.

Sil glances up at him and raises an eyebrow. "We should get going, Finnick. We shouldn't linger."

She pulls him from the scene. Internally, he thinks that there is something backwards about this.

He doesn't try to stop her though, knowing that time is running out, but as they rush forward in search of the lost members of their group, Finnick can't help but say, "One of these days, I'm gonna make you fight me.  You've been holding out on me."

He makes no mention of the way she had fought and killed Brutus. At this point, why waste breath? He can question her about it back in District 13. Maybe he'll even bring up the subject of her Games and demand the answers that she has not been forthcoming with. Why she's kept her silence of these matters is also something he'll demand of her. He can think of no reason for said silence in this moment.

At his side, Sil barks out a laugh and drawls, "Be careful what you wish for, my love."

Finnick doesn't respond.  Above them, the lightning is increasing in strength and number, and time is slipping through their fingers like sand in an hourglass. Nothing matters but finding the others and getting their trackers out of their arms. Only – they don't get very far before the sky starts to fall.

The large bolt of lightning that they've been waiting for is sudden and intense. It falls from the sky unexpectedly, and even though they aren't that close to the lightning tree, the crackle of the bolt as it hits its mark ricochets through the jungle as if they were right beside it. Finnick and Sil exchange a hectic glance but keep pushing forward even as the arena begins to fall around them.

It's a lovely sight, really. It's one of those sights that stays with you until the day you die, but Sil hopes that today is not that day. She turns her head up toward the falling arena. The snapping electricity that sparks from the wires looks like shooting stars falling to earth.

She's a little too busy watching the sky to watch the ground, though, and before she knows it she's tripping over a knotted root and tumbling down a steep incline. Her hand is ripped away from Finnick's and her head gets smashed against something hard, knocking away her vision for one terrifying moment before it all come trickling back…

And she sees Finnick above her, with a knife in his hand as he grapples with her forearm desperately.

She just barely manages to kick him off before a hulking piece of the arena falls right beside them. The live wires attached to the thing crackle and burn, and electricity tears yet another hole in her vision as the world darkens and turns black.

Before she loses her grip on reality, she swears she hears the faint words, "Sil…I love you too…" whispered just next to her ear, but –

It's surely just a trick of the imagination as her head spins into blackness.


	29. The cascading lilt of a single fiddle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Finnick finds himself in a position that he is not expecting, Sil's masks return with a vengeance, and certain secrets come into the light...
> 
> Thanks for all the reviews on the last chapter! I'll be interested to know if any of you expected the plot twist that you're about to read! And - I'm sorry in advance, but it had to happen eventually ya know. I did say I would make them suffer, didn't I?

 

**Chapter Twenty Nine | The cascading lilt of a single fiddle**

" _But he would not yield to the magic charm of this woman whom he had so deeply loved, and at whose hands his pride had suffered so bitterly. He closed his eyes to shut out the dainty vision of that sweet face, of that snow-white neck and graceful figure, round which the faint rosy light of dawn was just beginning to hover playfully." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

Contrary to popular belief, Finnick Odair is not exempt from the feelings of hopelessness – he just has the ability to mask it with a smirk and a boyish wink. Most of the time. Needless to say, this is not one of those times. He wakes up in a blank room. His first thought is that it's too white, to a point of blindness. It takes him several minutes to fully adjust to it, and during those few minutes he becomes aware of several other things that contribute to his hopeless feelings.

A bed with starchy, uncomfortable sheets; bolts around his wrists and ankles that prevent him from moving; the subtle beeping sound of a monitor nearby, which increases with tempo each second he realizes where he is. No normal hospital would bolt him to a bed.

He tears his eyes open despite the way the bright room makes them water. The heart monitor beside the bed is frantic now, pulsing rapidly through the silence. He struggles to breathe and finds it oddly difficult. The panic rising up within him is turning against him.

He counts backwards in his mind, desperate for some of the calmness that he normally possesses. He is Finnick Odair, survivor of two Hunger Games and renowned Victor. He will not die from a panic attack after he's survived so much.

Of course, there are so many other ways to die in the Capitol.

"He's awake," a quiet voice sounds somewhere to the blurry left. Finnick turns his head in the direction but can't find it in him to keep his eyes open. They close, blink rapidly before opening once more. As much as he wants to succumb to the safety of sleep, he knows that it won't kept him from harm.

"…Call him," another voice murmurs, so quietly that Finnick can't quite catch the first part of the sentence. Yet he knows, deep in his gut, who they are referring to. Who else would they inform?

He struggles against his binds and gasps for breath, trying uselessly to loosen the ties. But even as he does, he knows there is no point. Even if he can get out of the binds, he is still stuck in the Capitol – a festering snake pit of which there is no escape. None, at least, that he could find in his condition.

"Should I sedate him while we wait?" one of the voices wonders. It's so clinical, cold, as if he is pondering something completely mundane. Finnick isn't sure he appreciates it.

"Mm…perhaps that would be for the best," the other man responds. The voices are louder now, but Finnick is too far gone to see when they approach his bed and administer the sedative. He is suddenly not seeing the hospital at all. Instead he sees the arena coming down around him and the woman lying beside his prone figure in the jungle dirt, screaming something unintelligible that sounds vaguely like his name.

As he drifts back into blackness, her screams follow him into the swirling night.

* * *

He wakes up again with a jolt.

Hours, minutes – he's not sure how long he's been out, but when he opens his eyes, Finnick wishes he'd stayed under for longer. The sight he's met with isn't entirely pleasant, but then again, President Snow never is.

The President is obviously waiting for him, because he's sitting comfortably beside the hospital bed with a book in his hand, as if he's here to visit an old friend. Finnick very much doubts that  _friendship_  is on Snow's mind, though, especially when he snaps the book shut with more force than is necessary and stares at him with soulless black eyes.

"You're finally awake. I was getting impatient. I have a country to run, you know," Snow says, a little too casually.

Finnick tries to push himself up onto his elbows and cringes when a wave of pain hits his body hard.

"Oh, don't get up on my account," Snow tells him, settling his book in his lap with a thoughtful expression. He blinks at his Victor. His property. Finnick swallows tightly.

This isn't exactly the kind of situation he thought he'd find himself in. He had hoped, perhaps foolishly, that he'd be in District 13 by now. Something must have gone wrong. Something must have –

"Sil," he mumbles, his throat parched and dry. His voice sounds unused and hoarse and he cringes again at the mere sound of it, but he can't spare the energy to worry about his current lack of charm. He's too busy wondering where Sil is, if she's okay – and what happened to her, anyway? Now that he's more aware of his surroundings than he'd been before, he realizes that he is alone in this room save for his current captor. There is no sign of the flippant, strangely clever blonde Victor who has been an unexpected variable in his life the last few months.

Snow chuckles and Finnick turns to him with a tight throat.

"There's no need to worry about Mrs. Odair. She is quite alright. Had a sparkling recovery. I do believe she might be the luckiest person I know," the President muses, and Finnick struggles to puzzle out a fresh wave of confusion. It takes him a minute to figure out that Snow is indeed talking about Sil. Mrs. Odair. They are supposedly married now in the eyes of the Capitol – a fact that Finnick has rather forgotten in his current state.

Snow sighs idly and tilts his head back. "It really is a hindrance that you tied yourself to that girl, Finnick. It produces quite a few problems. I warned you that I would have the final say in your relationship, did I not? I do wish you had listened to me."

A blast of panic shoots through Finnick and he croaks, "What did you do to her?" The demand in his voice makes Snow turn his eyes back to the Victor with a raised brow.

"What did  _I_  do? Why Finnick, I didn't do anything. She's right back to her parties and fashion shows – see for yourself." He gestures to the flashing screen of a television that Finnick had not seen before. It sits in an unassuming little corner of the room and it's muted. It takes Finnick more energy than he wants to admit to lift his head enough to see it properly, but when he does he's caught between two contradicting emotions.

Relief to see that Sil is alive and healthy, and aggravation to see that she is being broadcasted in the middle of a ritzy party, laughing as if she has no troubles and isn't even a little worried about him. She's certainly made an easy transition back into Capitol society, he thinks with a frown.

"Is this a live feed?" Finnick finds himself asking before he can rein the question in. He suddenly feels like he has to know.

Snow shrugs and buffs his fingernails against his pristine suit. "Yes. It's some post-Games Gala or some such thing. She insisted on hosting it." He waves his hand and admits, "I didn't see a problem with the idea. After that rebellious little stunt in the arena, the Capitol needs some relief. And besides, it helps that she collects names for me. Very useful."

Finnick turns back to the President with a confused expression. Sil collects names? Whatever for? The questions must be apparent on his face, because Snow raises both eyebrows in subdued surprise that is made false by the cruel amusement which edges around his smile.

"Didn't she tell you? She's been helping me root out rebels in the Capitol for years now. There's no one better suited to listen in on gossip. And, of course, she's been quite helpful in picking out potential clients interested in buying nights with you. But listen to me, droning on about Silver when we should be talking about you and your rebellious activities." Snow smiles like a snake and Finnick can't breathe.

Sil has been rooting out rebels for President Snow. Sil has led countless people to their deaths. Sil has handpicked clients for him to service. Has this been going on throughout the time they've been in their fake relationship? Has she been lying to him from the very beginning? The heart monitor begins to beep wildly and Snow sighs again, this time in annoyance.

"Really, Finnick, I'm surprised you didn't know all this. You did supposedly marry the woman, after all. I thought you knew what you got yourself into by tying yourself to a Cornelius."

He speaks as if he knows every family secret that the Cornelius's have ever tried to cover up. Finnick feels a little faint.

"What do you mean?" he asks, breathless with panic and crushing disappointment that feels rather like heartbreak.

Snow purses his mouth. His impatience is tempered with a glee that comes from Finnick's clueless eyes.

"The Cornelius's have always been traitorous revolutionaries. Silver's mother was caught trying to rescue a group of rebels who were hiding out in District 1. We were lucky that we were one step ahead of her. There's no knowing how much Silver remembers of her mother's rebellious habits, but I wouldn't underestimate her if I were you, Mr. Odair. After all, Silver has been going behind your back for years now, using you for her own gains."

Snow pauses and then laughs. "You didn't really think she meant it, did you? When she told you she loved you in the arena? How could she when she's played a hand in setting you up with all those women? No – she was protecting herself, as all Cornelius's do when they're backed into a corner."

Finnick stares listlessly at the ceiling, absorbing Snow's words. They don't add up, somehow, but in his desperation, Finnick can't figure out why. It's easier to just believe even though he knows he shouldn't trust a word Snow says.

"Now. Shall we talk about other things?" Snow slowly asks, steepling his fingers beneath his chin and blinking down at Finnick with those soulless eyes. "You may recall that I asked you for a favor several months ago. Have you lived up to it?"

The favor that he's speaking of is surely regarding the Sterling Nightingale. Snow had asked him to hunt the spy down; to find out, once and for all, who the man was. Yet, perhaps it is because of the recent events of the Quarter Quell, but Finnick has had no other opportunities to live up to this favor that Snow had asked of him. It must show in his eyes, because Snow frowns and leans back, staring at Finnick hard.

"I hardly think it's such a great feat, considering your connections to the vast network of clients you service," Snow says, and Finnick cringes at the phrase of the words. Something about the turn of them sounds inhuman, as if Finnick is only a robot meant to fulfill one purpose and one purpose only.

Snow raises an eyebrow at Finnick and casually reminds him, "I should tell you that we've collected someone from District 4, just in case you need further motivation."

Finnick freezes at this. It feels like frigid water has been pumped through his veins.

"Don't hurt Annie," he whispers, looking up at Snow with impassioned eyes – pleading for the first time in his life. The humiliation hardly adds up to the amount of fear that he feels though. Annie is his best friend. He would do anything to protect her. Anything.

His desperation floods his expression. Snow purses his lips, eyes gleaming with malice. "I have no desire to hurt her," he placates, lifting his hands as if he's at the end of his rope and doesn't know what to do. With a shrug, Snow says, "Find the Sterling Nightingale, and I will return Annie to District 4 unharmed. Do we have an agreement?"

Finnick swallows tightly and nods. Pressed into a corner as he is, there is no other response to such a demand.

* * *

Sil is not used to such deplorable living conditions.

She'd complained plenty, but the moment she was deemed 'well enough', she was moved from the hospital to her own apartment, where she'd been given a schedule written up by Snow's personal secretary. The details of it are arduous and painstaking, but she must admit that attending parties one after another and visiting the occasional hotel room is preferable to the torture waiting for her after hours.

Her life is its own brand of torture, really, but there's nothing quite like being led by Peacekeepers to the underbelly of the President's Mansion.

They haven't gotten anything out of her yet. She's quite sure that Snow doesn't even believe they will. She's Silver Lamprey Cornelius after all – brainless, inadequate. She's spent the last seven years building up the image of being the silliest girl in Panem. Why would they suspect her of being a rebel?

It doesn't stop the torture from coming, only lessens it to some degree. She still has her uses and must be kept in decent physical shape, so her personal brand of torture is fear-based, but equally as dreadful. At least tonight she doesn't have to worry about that. She's got quite a lot of other concerns to occupy her time.

"Mrs. Odair, what a spectacular gown you're wearing! I see you've made another trip to Gigi's for their winter fashion releases!"

"We all think it was so romantic of you to get married so suddenly! Finnick must be so relieved that you both made it out alive!"

"Silver, do tell us more about the arena – it makes me shiver just to think of it!"

Sil simpers at her crowd of spectators and waves her hand. "Gracious!" she trills loudly, tilting her head back as if she's had one too many drinks and is high on life. (She only wishes.) "You're all so  _impatient!_  I'm sitting for an interview with Caesar tomorrow – you'll just have to wait until then, my loves."

Her admirers groan in tandem like small children being denied a toy. Sil laughs and winks cheerfully, but inside she'd like nothing more than to roll her eyes. What is it with their obsession about her personal life? And why do they insist upon calling her Mrs. Odair? It drives her crazy.

The first time she heard it she hadn't heard  _properly,_  and thought that Finnick had magically appeared in the room. It had taken her a deplorable amount of time to realize that they'd been talking to her, not Finnick. They  _do_  all think she's a married woman now – something that she forgets more often than not because it's technically all a lie.

Sil smiles daintily and makes a quick escape, making a beeline to the drink table. She's always careful not to imbibe too much at these functions but tonight isn't like any other party. Everything is different now.

Finnick, as far as she knows, is still in the hospital. It's been a week since the Games and her less than stellar return to Panem's upper class society, and she hasn't heard a single thing about him save for one careful interview from President Snow.

He'd mentioned how the remaining Victors are recuperating and being questioned for criminal activity. He said that they would be released shortly if they were deemed 'fit for society' – but Sil is the only one who has apparently met that mark, probably because Snow needs her now more than ever to sniff out suspected rebels. It's almost amusing how she happens to be the biggest one of them all. It most likely would be if Sil isn't still partially suspected herself, merely for being a Victor.

Her worries about Finnick and the others are only a small part of her struggles these past few days. She's had to even more careful than usual. She's watched constantly, even in her apartment, and hasn't visited Mr. Dorsey's shop since before the Games. It's too risky for her to get in the middle of operations when all eyes are on her, and so she's had to leave it to Dorsey and Tommy and a handful of other Capitolite rebels to take on the mantle of the Nightingale. One good thing about this is that it directs attention away from her. One bad thing is that it makes her go crazy without being able to help.

"Mrs. Odair, you look absolutely ravishing tonight," a man says to her left as Sil is pouring herself a bright neon pink shot. She glances up and nearly laughs aloud at the sight of Tommy dressed to the nines in a posh suit with sparkly lapels – as is the current fashion trend for men. (That and dyed facial hair, but thankfully Tommy is always freshly shaven.)

"Dear me, I should think so!" Sil agrees in a rather upstaged version of her usual pompous accent. She winks at Tommy and adds, "It took my stylist three hours to get me ready tonight. She's dreadful, darling. So inadequate! How I wish Iridessa could come back and replace her."

She trills out a loud laugh and picks up her drink. The rim touches her lips and hides their movement when she murmurs, "Finnick?"

Tommy, who has turned to get a drink of his own, pauses for just a moment before pursing his mouth. That's how Sil knows it's bad.

"No change," he tells her quietly. For once Sil is grateful for the blaring music and harsh beating tones of the DJ.

Tonight's party is a little wilder than some of the others she's attended. There is no live orchestra or classical music to create a peaceful sway. Tonight it's all savage beats and short skirts and wrinkled dress shirts.

"Heard he's being released tonight. Don't know  _where,_  though," Tommy adds, and Sil blanches a little.

Where indeed. His deceptively safe apartment, or the torture chamber?

Sil downs the shot.

"And everything else is going smoothly?" she asks, and gives him a wide smile just in case someone is looking her way and wonders at the somber way she's holding herself.

Tommy grunts. "As smooth as it can. We've cut off communication with Coin until things settle down. Beetee made it out though – I'm sure he'll be able to come up with a safer way to send messages soon. He's smart, right?"

Sil hums. 'Smart' is probably an understatement. The man's a genius.

"Silver! Darling, you look spectacular. Come and dance with us!" a Capitol woman that Sil vaguely recognizes suddenly says, throwing herself into Sil's personal space with a glowing smile and eager eyes. Sil immediately laughs even though she'd like nothing more than to throw the woman off.

"Gracious, I thought you'd never ask, my love!" Sil exclaims, like the invitation is so exciting that every single one of her worries have vanished into nothing.

She gives Tommy one last glance before allowing the woman to drag her onto the dance floor, and loses him in the crowd. It's really a shame that she can't just make a trip to Dorsey's shop and sit down with them, because it's been very difficult just to get information underneath all this scrutiny. But Sil laughs and dances anyway because she has an image to uphold, not realizing that by the time she returns to her apartment hours later, her world will yet again threaten to rock itself into shambles.

Sil reaches her apartment a little after midnight. It's early by Capitol standards. Parties usually last well into the morning, but it hadn't been difficult to plead exhaustion given her circumstances, and it isn't entirely a lie either. She  _is_  exhausted; her worries keep her up at night, tossing and turning endlessly.

She types her password into the keypad and hears the door unlock. As she stumbles into the hall that opens into her kitchen and tosses her purse on the side table, Sil notices several things that are out of place.

For one, the lights are already on. The soft sound of the television drifts through the apartment. If that isn't enough of a surprise for her, as she kicks off her heels she notices a pair of men's dress shoes sitting innocently by the closet door. Brown patent leather. Expensive.

She stares at them for a long moment before fear begins to slide through her. Is Felix here? Has Snow finally gotten tired of giving her freedom and has sent clients to her rooms?

She swallows hard and steps forward, padding silently across the thin area rug that covers the hallway. When the left wall opens into the kitchen, she notes that there are dishes in her sink and the kettle's been moved from the back burner to the front. And that's not all – there is a suit jacket hanging on the back of a kitchen stool.

She steps towards it and touches the smooth fabric warily. When she smells the faint scent of Finnick's cologne permeating the jacket, her wariness is replaced by conflicting eagerness tempered through with concern. What is Finnick doing in her apartment? When did Snow release him? Is he okay? And why did the President send him here – or had Finnick just wandered to her place of his own accord?

"You're finally home," Finnick's voice drawls from the doorway. Sil's heart jumps in her chest and she flies around, hand going to her throat. Her pulse quickens, though she isn't sure if it's because  _he's here_  or if she's somehow still afraid.

"Finnick?" she asks, her voice a whispered sound that barely gets passed her lips.

He just stares at her as if he's also not sure what he's feeling. Something has changed between them, she thinks with a start. Something important. But what?

"I just got out of the hospital. Snow sent me here. I put all my stuff in the living room. I didn't know where you wanted me to sleep." His explanation is dry, robotic, like he's reciting the words from a piece of paper. He keeps staring at her emotionlessly.

Sil pauses, then asks, "…What?"

Finnick chuckles but the sound is off. He doesn't even seem to make it sound real like he usually does. It's like he's stopped trying.

"We're going to be living together for a while. Snow was adamant about it," he tells her with a shrug, as if he doesn't really care one way or the other. But clearly he does, or his reaction would be calmer, easier.

It's Sil's turn to stare. She gapes at him in shock. She hadn't expected to see him so soon, much less to have him waltz into her apartment and announce that he's moving in. It's too sudden and she isn't equipped to handle the announcement after a night of blasting music and downing neon drinks.

Since Sil doesn't seem to be able to talk, Finnick breezily reminds her, "The Capitol thinks we're married, sugar. You can't be that surprised."

Her mouth opens then closes. She takes a deep breath and rubs at her temples.

"It's just that I've been worried about you and suddenly you show up and – "

"You were worried about me?" Finnick asks, cutting her off with a vehemence that makes her flounder in confusion. Why does he look so angry?

He laughs bitterly and gestures to her form – her updo, her gown, her sparkly makeup. "You were just at a party. A party that  _you hosted_. And you're claiming you were worried about me?" He clenches his jaw and mutters, "I've been in a torture chamber for a week, Silver. You've been nonstop partying during that entire time."

Her mouth flaps open again, but this time she doesn't have time to say even one word before Finnick bitterly says, "God, what the hell was I thinking all this time? I actually thought that maybe there was something else to you, Sil. That maybe you weren't as stupid and thoughtless as everyone says you are. But the fact that you can claim to be worried about me while you're having the time of your life is just – "

"I don't need to hear this," Sil says staunchly, narrowing her eyes at him. She's glad she'd kicked her heels off; her legs feel boneless, like she's about to fall. His words are double-edged swords. They cut one part of her then turn around and slice another.

This isn't the reunion she's been anticipating.

Finnick scowls at her. She's never been on the receiving end of such an angry expression before, not from him. It makes her hold her breath.

"I think you do," he bites out, clenching his hands before looping them into his pockets. Despite the fresh dress shirt and trousers he's sporting, he looks altogether unkempt, as if he's just spent a day on the streets. "You strut around like you own the entire city, playing Snow's lapdog. How many names have you given him, anyway? Just how many times have you sent random women to my hotel rooms?"

Her blood runs cold in her veins as his words cycle through her. How did he find out? Her reasoning falls flat and she stares at him in wide-eyed shock.

The guilt in her expression makes Finnick grit his teeth furiously. He can't stop his anger from surpassing all other emotions. He'd hoped that Snow was just feeding him lies, that Sil would never do something like this. But the guilt that spins through her eyes makes him feel more helpless than he's ever felt before.

She's been conveniently lying to him this entire time while she collects names of willing clients and inadvertently makes his hellish life ten times worse.

A burst of fury escapes him; he swings his hand through the air and accidentally knocks over one of the steel pots sitting on the small counterspace beside the door. As it clatters to the tiles, he shouts, "TELL ME!"

He sounds so angry that it even scares  _him,_  a little – but the sight of Sil's flinching expression gives him enough triumphant pleasure that he doesn't care.

There is a small part of him that hates himself right now, but it's so small that he completely overlooks it. He can't allow his feelings for her to get in his way tonight. He can't just let her off the hook. Sure, maybe she didn't have a choice. Maybe Snow had threatened her with something. It wouldn't surprise him. What upsets him most of all is merely the fact that she hadn't mentioned a word of this during the past few months they've been on close terms. She'd just danced her way through his life with that annoying simpering smile and kept quiet, wreaking havoc anywhere she could.

It isn't fair of him. He knows that. But he feels so betrayed.

"I can't even look at you," he mutters, dragging his eyes away from her grimacing expression and caught eyes. She looks like a doe in the headlights. An animal wanting to flee. It's just making him angrier.

Sil swallows tightly as Finnick turns around. He gets as far as the door before he turns back and says, "How can you live with yourself, sending innocent people to their deaths? Snow told me everything, Sil. I don't understand how you can just sit back and let other people die, just because they said the wrong thing at one of your ridiculous parties."

The look he sends her makes tears well up in her eyes. It makes her heart feel like delicate splintered glass seconds away from shattering.

He gives her an unimpressed glower and walks out of the kitchen. She can hear him storming through her apartment before everything falls silent as the front door slams shut. The stillness that follows feels like purgatory. She feels her tears slip passed her eyes.

Slowly, Sil steps to the fallen pot and puts it back in place. She stares at it for a moment. Her reflection peers back at her through the shiny metal. It's distorted and wrong, but for some reason she feels as though it shows the very core of her. The elements of herself that she doesn't want to admit she has.

He's got it all wrong. Everything is backwards. Could she have avoided this if she'd told him who she was months ago?

Her eyes fall to the pearl on her finger. The longer she stares at it the angrier she feels, until at last she lets out a pathetic grunt and rips it from her finger. She slams it onto the counter with a mournful fury that seems to shake through her entire body, then turns and flies to the threshold of the kitchen before she stops and deflates against the doorway.

Scrubbing a hand over her face, she sighs. It is a deep sigh, the kind of sound that is filled with exhaustion and sorrow and all the other sad, unhappy feelings that drop upon her shoulders.

Her finger feels too light without that pearl weighing it down.

She turns around with a teary scowl and slides it back into place, clenches her fist, and then flicks the light off before making her way further into her apartment.

It seems that no matter how hard she tries, she cannot stop herself from wanting him.


	30. That wrenches to its knees all other sound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which President Coin welcomes the Victors to District 13, Felix makes a reappearance into Sil's life, and Finnick's anger finds a new outlet.
> 
> Please enjoy, and feel free to drop me a review :)

 

**Chapter Thirty | That wrenches to its knees all other sound**

" _Only between these two hearts there lay a strong, impassable barrier, built up of pride on both sides, which neither of them cared to be the first to demolish." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

"Is medical on standby?"

"Yes, ma'am. Hovercraft set to land in 1.47 minutes."

Coin glances down at the departmental head of transportation and nods. The old man is in excellent shape despite nearing the ripe age of sixty, and his calculations have never been off in the past. That doesn't make her feel all that better though. This whole plan has been one complication after another.

"Bring the stretchers around the gate," she orders, speaking over her shoulder to the incoming group of white lab coats. District 13's medical team is an essential unit to the underground city and they do their job well.

She's been in direct communication with the brave pilot who'd volunteered to pick up the Victors from the flaming arena. Katniss has been saved, but at the extent of Peeta Mellark. And if that isn't enough, Finnick Odair never boarded at all. The Nightingale must be furious. It was always the plan to ensure Finnick's safety from the start.

The Nightingale…now there is a subject that is far too precarious for Coin to consider at this moment in time. She glances at the slight blonde woman who is standing over to the side and sighs. The woman is nondescript and easily overlooked in the pandemonium of the hall, but there was once a time where no one would even think of overlooking her. Even despite the chaotic energy of the room, she holds herself with such grace and poise that, had they been in any other environment, noticing her would have been a natural and magnetic reaction.

Coin sighs again as she peers up, watching for the hovercraft. Silver may be angry about the latest turn of events, but surely she understands that some plans fail. Sometimes, despite your best efforts, things don't go the way you want them to.

"0.30 seconds, Madam President," the head of transportation tells her as he stares at the PAAD in his hands. She can already hear the faint thrumming of the craft as it approaches the hidden terminal.

When it does make an appearance, it does so with a swoosh of sudden sound. The pilot is a young man, one of their skilled youth. Overly earnest in proving himself, too, but Coin hadn't argued when he volunteered. She'd needed the best of the best for a job like this, and an extra dosage of reckless courage comes in handy every once in a while.

The moment the craft lands, the ceiling screeches shut above them, blocking them off from the rare sight of blue sky and fresh air. If Coin had time to feel upset about this, she might have lamented the pressing darkness of her home, but time is not something she has, and she immediately steps into action as the hovercraft doors slide open.

The doctors rush forward with their stretchers. Coin watches Haymitch Abernathy step off the craft. She watches Katniss's prone body be lifted out. She gets only one short look at the young woman before a team of doctors whisk her away. She thinks the Girl on Fire looks a bit pale, a bit underfed, a bit slim. Not exactly a war hero. Then again, her very own Nightingale has proven just how deceiving appearances can be.

Beetee comes next, though his leg is injured. It takes two doctors to lift him off the craft and help him onto the stretcher. Unlike Katniss, he is fully conscious and looks to be in great pain. As a very recent amputee, Coin is not surprised. She gives the intellectual a nod as he passes. Without him, this plan would never have gotten off the ground. And – without Haymitch, Katniss would never have agreed to play fair.

"Nice place you've got here," the older Victor drawls as he approaches her. The dry expression on his face tells Coin how sarcastic he's being, and she straightens her spine. Most newcomers that are rescued from the Capitol have the same exact reaction when they first arrive to this underground hell, but he will soon see just how amazing District 13 truly is.

"Haymitch Abernath. Am I correct?" she inquires stoically, and Haymitch snorts.

"At your service," he shrugs.

"I don't suppose I need to introduce myself to you. I'm sure Plutarch told you everything you need to know," she responds.

The Victor opens his mouth to answer, but he's cut off by the sound of Plutarch's voice as he steps up to their side. "I filled him in, Madam President, and laid down the ground rules."

Haymitch glowers at the reminder. The first ground rule had been no drinking. As if that isn't a death sentence in and of itself, the second rule had been no leaving the walls of District 13 for any reason whatsoever unless the President herself gives clearance. He keeps telling himself that it would have been ten times worse had he not been rescued, but at least he'd be able to wash the pain away with whisky.

Coin nods amicably and ignores the frown on Haymitch's face. Instead she turns to Plutarch and says, "We should speak about the complications this mission incurred."

Plutarch nods. "You're talking about the Victors who were left behind." It's a statement, not a question, because by now Plutarch has gotten fairly good at reading this woman who is in charge of so much.

Haymitch jumps in and drawls, "About that. Katniss is furious that Peeta's in the Capitol. She's not going to make things easy."

Coin pauses, glances at the sizable audience around them – the bustling doctors, the pilots and engineers – and says, "Let's continue this conversation in my office. You're welcome to join, Mr. Abernathy."

Haymitch's mouth turns down at the formality and mutters, "Just Haymitch is fine. I'm not  _that_  old."

Plutarch chuckles dryly but doesn't comment. He's never been inside of District 13 before, and so he gestures to Coin to lead the way. She does, but she's interrupted by the nondescript blonde woman, who steps over with a seemingly demure, "Excuse me, Madam President. I don't mean to interrupt you, but – "

Coin holds up a hand to silence her, and though it works, the blonde woman's jaw

tightens imperceptivity – the only sign of impatience that she allows to show.

"We'll speak once I welcome the new members of our society, Aurelian. For now, I'm sure you have somewhere you should be." She eyes the handstitched label on the front of the woman's navy jumpsuit. On it is embroidered the word 'Metallurgist' in bold black letters.

The woman pauses, seeing the purposeful way Coin looks at her station, and purses her lips.

"…Of course. I'll let you greet our new guests first, and I'll stop by your office later today," she responds, agreeable but resolute despite her gentle tone. Coin bites back another sigh.

Still, she gives the woman a nod. Aurelius is a force to be reckoned with if slighted, and considering her connection to one of Coin's top agents, it would go against her better judgement to do such a thing.

She gestures for Haymitch and Plutarch to follow her onward, and leaves the blonde woman behind. Haymitch looks at her as he walks past, catching her eye curiously and taking note of the fine aristocratic features, the wispy blonde hair, the sparkling green eyes…

"She looks familiar," he says, more in passing than anything else. He's got far more to think about at this moment, and none of those pressing thoughts concern a random stranger from District 13.

Coin just grunts and glances back at him. "Aurelian has been with us for years now. She's a bit of a celebrity around here."

Haymitch raises a sarcastic eyebrow and snorts, "A celebrity, in District 13?" He turns his head back to stare at the blonde woman. She is already walking away, her movements graceful and elegant. There is something very fine about the way she holds herself, as if she's been born and raised into high society. Despite the navy jumpsuit she's wearing, there is something about her that makes her seem to be above everyone else.

Coin doesn't respond, only continues forward. She is soon joined by two tough looking men decked out with guns and ammo belts that drape across their backs. In a wry voice, she responds, "That is a story for another time, perhaps. We have more pressing matters to speak about."

Neither Haymitch nor Plutarch deem it wise to refute her words. They follow after her, and quickly forget the demure woman in wake of the shock of being in the heart of District 13, which had previously been little more than an outdated myth.

It seems that everyone is dressed in standard navy jumpsuits. Each one has a white patch on the left breast with a number and a division embroidered in black thread. There are even divisions for the more mundane jobs, Plutarch notices as they pass a trio of women rolling large bins of dirty clothes down the hallway. They each have the word 'laundry' written out on their jumpsuits. The concept of organization is obviously a very important one here.

Coin's office is located down several floors. They take the elevator there to avoid the ruckus of the halls – apparently a completely normal, bustling atmosphere. The elevators are reserved for the higher-ups and medics, Coin informs them as the lift brings them down the levels. Makes sense, really – no normal person would ever willingly board this shaky, open death trap.

"Katniss and Beetee will most likely remain in the hospital for the remainder of the week. That should give us some time to come up with an adequate plan on where to place them," Coin says as she swings open a nondescript door and leads them inside.

Her office is equally nondescript, with barely any furnishings aside from a desk and a large table set up in front of a screen. Everything is gray and dull.

"Place them?" Plutarch inquires curiously and he takes a seat at the table.

Coin nods at her guards and they make a quick disappearance. She glances at Plutarch and explains, "No one gets a free ride here in 13. It takes manpower to keep this district running. Every civilian is given a job. I can't bend the rules or others will get upset."

Haymitch barks out a laugh, "Wouldn't want to hurt their feelings by giving special treatment to the Girl on Fire, would we?"

Plutarch has half a mind to agree with the Victor, but he keeps his mouth shut. Years of working beneath President Snow has taught him one thing at least: diplomatically sucking up. Coin seems trustworthy, but this is the first time he's actually meeting her in person. It's easy to pretend to be someone else when communication is brief and to the point. If he wants to keep this rebellion on track and ensure that Katniss comes out on top, he'll have to wait and see what Coin has in store for them all.

She narrows her eyes at Haymitch and takes a seat behind her desk. Plutarch reads her movement as an act of power – she has the desk, therefore she is important. He's used to such power plays from Snow and can spot them a mile away.

"Make no mistake, Mr. Abernathy, you'll also be assigned a division to work under," she says. Haymitch glowers but seems to decide that it isn't worth arguing when they have more important things to discuss.

Plutarch leans forward. "Do what you will, Madam President. This is your district, after all." He nods at her and then says, "Shall we talk about your plans for the Nightingale while we're here? I'm curious as to what kind of information you think she'll be able to get. She's being watched day and night, after all."

Coin waves her hand as if the matter isn't as important as Plutarch thinks.

"The Nightingale has always been my responsibility, Heavensbee. I think you'll be surprised at just how much she can ascertain. She has help in the Capitol. The League of the Sterling Nightingale has been a great help to our cause. I haven't stranded her there, if that's what you're implying."

Plutarch shakes his head. "I trust her abilities fully, but I also know how Snow can be. The torture he'll inflict on her…on them all…" he trails off because there really isn't a word to describe how horrific it will be.

Haymitch hasn't stopped glowering at the tabletop throughout all this. He imagines Sil being swept up in all that chaos and wonders if her masks will save her from the torrent of it all. Then he thinks of Peeta, of the agony that he is probably going through at this very moment. That boy will undoubtably get the worst of it because of his ties to Katniss.

Coin frowns. Her expression is altogether difficult to read, and Plutarch isn't sure if she is hiding her own worry or just doesn't care. To be honest, it's a little disconcerting.

"She knew what was expected of her from the very beginning," Coin finally says. "There's nothing we can do for them now. We should focus our attention on Katniss for the time being. I want her to film promos for 13. Be the public figure of the rebellion."

Plutarch raises his eyebrows. "Political warfare?"

Coin nods. "We have fewer resources than the Capitol. We need to utilize those that we do have, and Katniss is our biggest asset."

Neither of them likes the way that sounds, the stoic emotionless way Coin refers to Katniss as an object of war. A thing to take advantage of. As if she is just a face without a soul. But Plutarch is diplomatic, and for now he is willing to see where this takes them.

He just hopes they aren't on a path that will lead to all of their deaths.

* * *

Finnick returns to Sil's apartment at six o'clock in the morning. He doesn't try to be quiet. An extended night of drinking has left him in complete disarray. He barely even manages to remember the passcode for the door, only recalling it after spending ten minutes loitering in the hallway. In a way, he'd rather just sleep outside, but even in his drunken state he knows that he has a reputation to keep. There will be consequences if he tarnishes it.

Sil is awake already, having tossed and turned for the majority of the night. She's lying in bed staring sightlessly at the ceiling when she hears the commotion he makes as he stumbles inside. She rolls over and buries her face into her pillow with a sigh, hiking the blankets up to her chin and glancing at the red numbers of the clock. He's been out all night.

In a way, she's furious at him for his reckless behavior…but what could she possibly say now? Any right she had to speak her mind is long gone, left to flicker in the silence of her own insecurities. If he doesn't hate her yet, he will loath her soon enough. He's slowly unraveling her secrets, but he's only scratched the surface with the one he's just discovered.

She lays there for another hour before deciding to just start her day. The hot shower she takes does little to quell her nerves. She has to face Finnick sooner or later, and she decides to brave the storm before she loses her courage. But he's passed out when she steps into the living room. He didn't even make it to the couch before collapsing on the rug near the coffee table and apparently deciding that it was comfortable enough.

She pauses, frowns, and walks back into her room. When she reappears a moment later, her arms are laden with one of the pillows from her bed and several warm blankets from the closet. She kneels beside him and gently lifts his head, depositing the pillow underneath it.

He is a mess. He reeks of alcohol and needs to wash his hair and have a decent shave, but even in his current state, Finnick is still beautiful. Is it merely because this is  _Finnick Odair,_  who could pull off even the most outrageous look and still appear gorgeous? Or is it because she is so in love with him that it's made her utterly blind to his faults? These days, she finds that it's easier to just ignore her inner speculation and focus on the facts. And one fact is that he's shivering.

She wraps the blankets around his form, tucks them into his sides, and hesitantly lays her hand over his shoulder. In his sleep, he heaves out a sigh and turns his face into the pillow. It occurs to her that she's never seen him asleep before and wants to laugh at the unpleasant circumstances of the situation. She's daydreamed plenty of times about a moment like this, but in those dreams Finnick was never angry at her and he was never passed out drunk.

Everything is so backwards.

"I'm sorry, Finnick," she whispers, suddenly on the verge of tears. She hastily wipes her cheeks and closes her eyes tightly. "I wish you never got swept up in my life. I wish everything was different."

But wishes won't change the circumstances, and Sil sighs as she watches him sleep. She'll let him hate her if that's what he wants. He can blame her and yell at her and tear her to shreds. She'll take all his anger, as much as he needs her to.

"…I really do love you," she breathes into the silence of her living room, and sighs again.

In her heart she knows that it doesn't matter. Even if she had all the time in world, it wouldn't change anything. When it all comes down it, love doesn't mix very well with rebellions.

Two hours later, Sil is in the kitchen washing the dishes she used to make breakfast. She's saved some for Finnick but isn't sure when he'll wake up, so the food is wrapped and waiting on the counter in case he makes a sudden appearance. She doubts he will though – she hasn't heard even a sound from the living room and figures he'll spend the day sleeping off the alcohol.

It's a quiet morning and Sil doesn't have any immediate plans…which is why she's so surprised when her doorbell rings. She shouldn't be though. She is under constant surveillance, after all.

Felix is on the other side of the door when she opens it, and Sil plasters on a fake, confused smile as she looks at him. Her smile drops away when he sneers at her and barges inside.

"Oh yes, please do come in," she sighs. Felix gives a harsh laugh and heads for the living room. With a jolt of surprise, Sil hurries after him.

"How's your new living conditions?" Felix dryly asks as he sees Finnick's prone form on the floor. He chuckles darkly and turns to Sil. "I see you've been very accommodating to your fake husband."

Sil swallows. What is Felix doing here? Did Snow send him?

He scoffs at her silence and nudges Finnick's body with his foot, looking down at the passed out Victor like he's trash.

"It's fortunate that he's blacked out," Felix slowly says, turning to Sil with a look in his eyes that she knows only too well. A burst of clawing fear threatens to overwhelm her at the sight of his expression, but somehow she manages to stand tall.

"Why's that?" she wonders, dreading his answer. Wherever Felix goes, some kind of torture is bound to follow. She's learned that long ago.

"Because," he drawls, unbuttoning his suit jacket. He tosses it on top of Finnick's head and smirks at the sight. Sil swallows tightly, torn between wanting to throw the jacket off of Finnick and wanting to get as far away from her apartment as possible. Felix turns to face her, eyes dark as he steps forward. "Snow's given me some fun orders. He told me to oversee your torture from now on, but he didn't specify how. Don't worry though – I have some pretty good ideas."

Sil backs away with a shudder and glances down at Finnick. Surely Felix wouldn't do  _that_  to her while Finnick is in her apartment? No matter that he's still asleep. He could wake up at any moment. But – Felix is loosening his tie, eyes zeroed in on Sil's figure, and she's suddenly all too aware of the loose bathrobe she's wearing and the fact that she's still in her pajamas.

A sickening shiver traces down her spine.

"I'd rather get punched a million times in the face," she spits, rediscovering her anger when Felix grabs her arm and pulls her into the bedroom.

He laughs, no doubt amused at the thought, and says, "We wouldn't want your pretty face getting all bruised, would we? Though I suppose I could punch you in other places if you want me to."

She doesn't even have time to react when his fist swings itself hard into her gut.

Her breath swooshes out of her and she stumbles to her knees, only to have Felix grab a fistful of her hair and force her head back. He crouches in front of her with a speculative expression and drawls, "Lucky you, Silver. I'm not really in the mood to fuck you right now, so I think I'll take you up on your offer."

This time his fist comes down on her side and she falls to the floor, just in time for Felix to stand up and kick her very solidly in the ribs.

It's not the first time she's experienced such pain, and it won't be the last. The past week has been one torture after another. Snow's been intent on dragging every little thing out of the remaining Victors and she didn't get any better treatment. The only difference is that after a few days, he gave her some freedom to continue her 'job', or whatever it is he calls it. She suspects, though, that he just wants to catch her in the act and have something legitimate to threaten her with. It doesn't matter how stupid she pretends to be; Snow does not trust his Victors.

Felix beats her to a pulp and then leaves her lying on her bedroom floor. After a harsh hit to her head, she loses consciousness and just drifts between the waking and sleeping worlds for a while. She's in terrible pain, but she's so relieved that all Felix did was beat her up. He could've done so much more to her.

When she finally drags herself up, the whole day has gone by and Finnick is still passed out in the living room. What a pair they make.

She cleans herself up as best she can in the bathroom, wrapping her waist and applying cream to her bruises. It'll take a while for the color to return to her normal tone, but the ointment is the best of the best and works fast. The same cannot be said about her ribs or her head. Felix didn't hold his punches.

He also didn't keep her face completely untouched. There's a blackish bruise just beneath her eye, wrapping around the socket with a vehemence that makes her cringe. She certainly won't be going to any parties tonight, not until the ointment has dealt with that bruise.

She's uncertain if he cracked her ribs or if they're just really bruised, and Sil doesn't want to go to the hospital. The press would have a field day if they saw her in her current state, so she just bandages her waist and gingerly pulls her hair into a bun to hide the large bump on the back of her head. Then she downs extra strength painkillers and somehow manages to make her way into the kitchen without careening over in pain.

Meanwhile Finnick sleeps through all of it.

He doesn't wake up until evening, when Sil is boiling water for dinner. She's too exhausted to make anything worthwhile so she's heating up some instant noodles and sipping tea. When Finnick blearily walks into the kitchen, she's sitting hunched over at the counter, nursing her drink. She makes an effort to smooth out her expression the moment she hears him; she doesn't want him to know how much pain she's in. A part of her thinks he doesn't deserve to know anything else about her, but the rest of her just wants to wallow in her own self-pity and pride. She's got a lot of both right now, and she raises her hand to her face, trying to hide her black eye for as long as possible.

It doesn't matter anyway – Finnick doesn't even look at her. He's still angry, then. She can practically feel the extent of his anger as he approaches the counter and crosses his arms, surveying the mess she's made.

"Funny. I kind of figured you'd have your own personal chef," he mutters dryly as he picks up one of the packs of noodles.

Sil doesn't respond.

He glances at her with a frown and says, "I have a full schedule tonight. I wonder how many of them you know personally."

This time, she flinches and he looks pleased about it.

"You probably shouldn't wait up for me. It'll take all night." He means to hurt her. It's almost amusing, how many men want to do her harm. She never thought Finnick would be one of them. Once, he swore he'd protect her with his life. Clearly his promises don't extent passed the Games, but then again she probably deserves this.

When she doesn't answer again, he scoffs. "What, you don't feel like defending yourself? You don't want to get angry? You're just gonna sit there looking all smug and unconcerned?"

Sil presses her palms into her eyes and sighs. "Finnick – "

"Why do you never get angry?" he demands, his expression a storm of fury and betrayal. "It makes me so fucking – "

"I know you don't want to hear it, but I'm sorry, Finnick," she suddenly says, still not looking at him. She can't bear to see his face, to see the hatred in his eyes. It's worse than getting beat up again, a thousand times over.

He laughs and she flinches, because it sounds so angry and judgmental that she suddenly wants to cry. She didn't cry all throughout Felix's torment, but when faced with Finnick's contempt, she could sob.

"You're right. I don't want to hear it," he mutters, glaring at her hunched over figure. "I wish you'd tell me you didn't have a choice. At least that would make me feel a little better. But you did, didn't you? You do whatever Snow says because you love his fucked up city and all the disgusting people who live here."

She doesn't mean to, but she chuckles at his words. How could he think she loves this city? Her mask feels like it's crumbling away. If only he knew just how much she hates this place, just how far she's gone to see it destroyed. But the time to tell him has long passed. The timing has always been skewed.

"Why are you laughing?" he asks darkly. For some reason she can't stop. There is an edge of hysteria to her voice and she just can't battle it down. Living two lives can do that to you, sometimes. Make you go crazy.

It only serves to make Finnick furious. So furious that he reaches across the counter and grabs her chin, turning her face towards him with a strength that makes her pain flare up like a thunderstorm has gone off in her body. The back of her head sears at the sudden movement. This time when she flinches, she raises a hand to her wound with a cry, forgetting momentarily about the sickening bruise curling under her right eye.

The moment she remembers, Sil shuts her mouth and swallows tightly. Finnick is now looking at her with shock, his eyes honed in on the ugly bruise. Then he moves his gaze to where her hand is nursing her head and his eyes darken.

"What happened?" he demands. His anger seems to translate over to dark concern and Sil isn't entirely sure if she's happy about that or not.

She jerks her face out of his grip and mumbles, "Nothing. I'm fine."

He leans back with a clinical expression, suddenly seeing her hunched over figure in a different light. Her posture is always superb. Now that he thinks about it, he's never seen her sit like this.

Furious now for a different reason, Finnick grits his teeth. "Who did this to you?"

She refuses to answer, instead just staring down into her tea sullenly. Finnick closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to keep his turbulent emotions down.

"Where else are you injured?" he inquires once he succeeds. She swallows but still doesn't say anything, and this time Finnick's impatience wins.

He steps around the counter in three purposeful strides and is grasping the edge of her chair with insistent hands. Before she can stop him, Finnick is turning the chair to face him. The sudden, harsh movement has her hands flying to her ribs without thought – something that he immediately notices.

He wrestles them away and pushes her shirt up a few inches. When he sees the bandages, he angrily sighs out and says, "Damn it, Sil. Why the hell didn't you say something?"

Tears well up in her eyes without permission, edging them with red. She pushes his hands away and turns back to her tea with a tight expression.

"…I deserve it," she murmurs, looking down at her reflection. "For everything I did to you. All the names I collected - " she breaks off before she can say anything more and bites the inside of her cheek.

Finnick stares at her silently, neither agreeing nor refuting her words. After a long moment that seems to stretch on into forever, he sighs heavily and mutters, "Why is it so hard to stay mad at you?"

She doesn't respond. She just stares at the counter as if she hadn't even heard him to begin with. He sighs again before twisting her around, more gently this time, and hooks his arm beneath her legs.

"Come on," he says, lifting her up. She doesn't expect this and flails a bit, groaning at the way her ribs ache with the movement.

"Where are you taking me?" she demands, clinging to his shoulders with a frown.

He frowns right back and responds, "The couch. Just sit down and watch TV for a while. I'll call my doctor. He makes house calls."

She immediately shakes her head, but he interrupts her excuses before they can even come to light.

"He's very discrete," Finnick says, gently setting her down on the couch. He gives her a look and after a moment, she realizes the meaning behind his words. This doctor must be the one he goes to for everything surrounding his clients. Discretion is a must.

After helping her get comfortable, Finnick grabs the blanket she'd put on him earlier that morning and drapes it over her body. He makes no mention of how it got there. All he does is tuck it around her and hand her the TV remote.

"I'm still angry," he tells her as he leans back, "but I'm not the type to hold onto grudges. I'm sure you had your reasons. But Sil…you should have told me in the very beginning. Why keep it a secret?"

Sil stares at her hands and slowly says, "…I didn't want you to hate me."

He purses his mouth.

Does he hate her? He thought he did, but seeing her in such a pitiful light makes him rethink his fury. She's clearly not immune to Snow's distrust. He doesn't know how much the President really makes her do, but Victors never truly have choices. He knows that. But Sil's betrayal hurts more than it would if anyone else were to do this to him.

He thinks he knows why.

"…I don't hate you," he murmurs after a moment. He doesn't tell her that he could never hate her, not really. He doesn't tell her what he really feels for her. He doesn't want to feel what he does for her, because it's so confusing and makes his world seem like its forever spinning in circles.

So instead he just turns on his heel and walks to the phone to call his doctor, leaving all those unsaid things in the dust. He's not ready to admit them yet. Perhaps he'll never be ready.

Loving Silver Lamprey Cornelius is so much harder than he could have ever imagined.


	31. All other sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Finnick tries (and fails) to understand Sil, he stumbles upon another red flag, and comes to the conclusion that the woman he is supposedly married to is the most idealistic creature alive.
> 
> I may be updating a bit early next week since it's Christmas, and will possibly be double posting as a gift for all of you wonderful people who read this story... ;) 
> 
> Without further ado, please enjoy this chapter. The last scene is one of my favorites.

 

**Chapter Thirty One | All other sound**

" _After that she turned and looked again at the ponderous desk. It was covered with a mass of papers, all neatly tied and docketed, which looked like accounts and receipts arrayed with perfect method. It had never before struck Marguerite – nor had she, alas, found it worthwhile to inquire – as to how Sir Percy, whom all the world had credited with a total lack of brains, administered the vast fortune which his father had left him." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

Two bruised ribs and countless other minor injuries all over her body – that is the doctor's diagnosis after he checks her over about an hour later. He wraps her stomach, treats her bruises with some kind of advanced diminishing formula, and leaves her in peace just as Finnick is coming out of the shower.

Sil is flicking through her PAAD when he steps out into the living room, running a towel over his damp hair. He's dressed in a pair of smart looking trousers and a linen button down, tucked into his pants. When she glances up at him and sees the subdued look on his face, Sil remembers why he's wearing such nice clothes at eight o'clock in the evening. There can be only one reason.

"You're going out tonight, aren't you," she says, not bothering to add an inflection to her question. She already knows the answer just from the carefully blank way his eyes flicker over her. He is trying to hide his fear, his self pity.

He doesn't respond at first. Instead he goes to sit down beside her, throwing his arms over the back of the couch. After a minute of silence, he mutters, "I won't be back till early morning."

He sends her a glance and she frowns. To be honest, he's still annoyed with her, but the hot shower he's just had has cleared his head a little. Enough, at least, to continue their conversation from before without letting his anger cloud his judgement.

"Tell me why you did it," he says, watching her carefully. She looks distinctly uncomfortable and he can't entirely blame her.

Sil's frown deepens. "I didn't want to, Finnick. You know how Snow is. If I hadn't, he would have taken my father…just like he took my mother."

He's expecting this response and immediately inquires, "What happened to your mother?" He doesn't remember her ever going into detail about it. Is it the same defies-the-Capitol-and-pays-for-it story that happens regularly to new Victors who don't fully understand how the system works, or is it something more? He recalls the strange conversation he'd had with Gemma before the Quarter Quell, and wonders if there isn't another, more hidden agenda behind Snow's actions. The President doesn't take rebel sympathizers lightly. And if what Snow had said about the Cornelius family is true when Finnick had woken up in that hospital, then surely there's more to the story.

Sil sighs. "I don't know all the details," she lies, because it's safer that way, and Finnick can't know. Knowing is dangerous and she's afraid of what he'd say to her – how he'd look at her – if he knew. So instead she just murmurs, "Snow came to the conclusion that my mother was involved in getting people visas to leave District 1. He killed her to send a message to the rebels."

Finnick stares at her. She recites this dryly, unemotionally. Coldly, even. As if she is talking about someone she is completely unrelated to. Is it a defense mechanism, perhaps, to compartmentalize her pain? He isn't sure how she does it if that's the case. He still remembers the day his entire family was wiped out – his mother, his father, his younger brother. He still feels the anguish as if it were yesterday. Not for the first time, he wonders if she has any emotions at all, or if she just hides them behind superficiality because it's easier that way.

"…I have to go," he mutters, deciding that this is a topic he doesn't want to get deeply into right now. There's no time anyway. He has to be at the hotel in twenty minutes.

Sil just shrugs, staring sightlessly at the wall. Her large green eyes seem harder for some reason, but he doesn't have it in him to read her. Silently, he stands up and grabs his jacket, taking one last glance at the women he is supposedly married to. She is nothing like the person he thought he knew. In a way, he thinks she might be worse.

Perhaps she had no choice behind her actions, but how can she possibly explain everything else? The way she has so callously sent people to their deaths without shedding a tear? Without feeling remorse? Collecting potential clients for him is one thing, but rooting out the rebels in the Capitol and practically signing their death warrants? That is quite another.

"Snow wants to meet with us tomorrow, by the way," he says after a moment of silence. Sil's attention is caught: she turns to look at him with wide eyes.

"Do you know why?" she wonders quietly, almost as if she's afraid to know.

He shrugs his jacket on and replies, "No idea."

As he turns to leave without another word, Sil stares after him remorsefully. This isn't how it's supposed to go. He's not supposed to walk away without his customary 'sweet dreams, sugar' or playful smile. But the time for lighthearted amusement is over, and she's not sure if it will ever be back.

The Capitol tends to do that to people. Crush them beneath industrial fumes and manipulative fallacies. They aren't even close to the finishing point yet. So many miles suddenly seem to lurch between them, and as the front door swings shut, it feels like eternity is pressed into the sound of its closing.

* * *

She doesn't think it's right, lying to Finnick. It hurts her. She knows that it hurts him, too. But what else can she do? They are in the thick of things, surrounded on all sides by enemies. They aren't safe, and lying to him is the only way to ensure that he, at least, doesn't have to be dragged down with her. She doesn't know what the future will bring, but Sil is prepared to die. Surviving has become second nature to her since her Games, but death would be worth it if it meant that those Games would be destroyed. A deep, vicious part of her that is hidden even from herself, longs for the relief that death would bring.

"You shouldn't be here," Mr. Dorsey hisses when he sees Sil enter through the backroom of his antique shop. It is antique in every way, from what it sells to the pre-war furnishings.

Sil gives him a grimace that could almost be described as apologetic. She snaps the curtain shut behind her and strides quickly to the rug behind his desk. A moment later, she's bending down and pulling the rug to the side, revealing the floorboards beneath. Floorboards which she efficiently lifts away to display the entrance of the vault beneath the shop.

"Silver – " Dorsey mutters, glancing warily at the door. The shades have been drawn shut and the door's been locked, but that won't stop a squad of peacekeepers from barging through it. Even though it's one o'clock in the morning and this part of the city is asleep, it doesn't mean they're safe.

"I know," Sil says, interrupting him before he can lecture her on the risk she's taking. She's being watched nearly 24/7 these days. Sneaking out of her apartment had been a tricky business, as was making sure no one was on her trail through the streets, but it's worth it. She'll do anything for information.

"But since I'm already here," she says, pausing to heave up the heavy metal door, "you might as well tell me what's going on in 13."

Dorsey grumbles to himself as she disappears down the steps into the vault. He throws the door one last glance before following after her and shutting the metal door behind him. Once he blocks it off and turns the hulking lock back into place, he scans the underground room for the resident spy.

She's at the table in the center, hunched over as she flips through her PAAD. It's from 13 and therefore virtually untraceable to Capitol frequency, but she's been unable to retrieve it since returning from the Quarter Quell. The heavy surveillance that's been placed on her has been stringent, but now that Finnick is also out of the hospital…well, the moment she realized that the attention had been divided between the two of them, she jumped at the chance to come for the one thing more valuable to her than all the gems in District 1.

The tablet has been at Dorsey's since the start of the Games about a month ago, for safekeeping. Had the Capitol discovered it in her apartment and managed to get past the security programs set in place, all hell would have broken loose. They would have been able to get into all her files, all her plans, every identity she's ever used to secret people out of the Capitol. It would have been the end of everything for her.

"No new messages from Coin," Sil frowns, pulling up the message center with a baleful glower. Nothing. District 13 seems to have completely written them off.

Dorsey sighs and goes to lean against the table next to her. "That's because it's too risky. Just like it's too risky for you to  _be_   _here_  right now." He gives her a glare and she wrinkles her nose up but doesn't look away from the screen.

"What the hell were you thinking, Sil?" he questions, voice rough from the years of smoking too much and all the stress of his undercover job. He runs a hand through his already mussed up hair and sighs, "If they followed you, they'd kill us all without a moment's hesitation."

She purses her lips and powers the tablet down. She'll look through it more at a later time, when she's in the relative safety of her apartment. She knows they bugged the walls of it, but to her knowledge, they never set up actual cameras. She'll be safe to at least scan through the data.

Slipping the small tablet into her pocket, Sil turns to her partner and murmurs, "I'm going absolutely crazy, Dorsey. I don't have a moment's peace, and now Finnick is living with me. How can I do what I need to do with him right there? And Snow – "

"Snow's gonna get what's coming to him sooner or later," Dorsey cuts in, spearing her with a glance. "Look, Silver, things are real shitty right now. The plan's gone haywire. I was told that Katniss isn't willing to be the face of the rebellion without Peeta safe in 13. Coin's having trouble convincing her."

Sil snorts at this and shakes her head, "Coin, having trouble manipulating the most fearlessly stubborn woman in Panem?  _For shame."_

Dorsey chuckles dryly. "They're getting a rescue team ready. Gonna storm the Capitol and take him back."

The scoffing expression on Sil's face turns to surprise. "When? How? Why wasn't I told?"

"Soon. I don't know the details, they're keeping it hushed up. And you weren't told because you're at risk right now, Silver, as you well know," he replies, sounding very patronizing in a way she doesn't appreciate.

"I'm still their best field agent," she mutters, and Dorsey laughs.

"What am I, chopped liver?" he asks. She laughs too and nudges his shoulder.

"Oh, sorry. I meant their most  _undervalued spy."_ She stares at the opposite wall and grumbles, "I can help that rescue mission. I want to help. The other Victors need to get out of here."

Dorsey hums in agreement. "I don't know what part you'll play in that, but I'm sure Coin is thinking of something. For now, just focus on not getting caught, okay? And by that, I mean – "

"Never coming here again, I know," she huffs, and pushes off from the table.

Dorsey shakes his head. "It's for your own good, kid. Unfortunately for you, I've grown attached to you. If I have to bar you from this part of the city to keep you alive, I damn well will."

Sil laughs and nods at him. "Alright, alright, no need to get dramatic on me. I got what I came for. If you hear anything from Coin about this plan,  _tell me."_

He rolls his eyes and mutters, "I will. Sheesh. You'll be the first to know."

She gives him a little smile, but it turns strained when she asks, "My father…he's alright, isn't he? I haven't been able to keep track of him at all since my less than stellar return to society."

Her worries are needless, which Dorsey is quick to tell her. "I've been keeping tabs on him. So far, Snow doesn't seem very interested in him. He should be safe in District 1."

Holding back a sigh of relief, Sil nods and says, "I'd better be off then. Take care of yourself, Dorsey. And take care of my vault, would you? It's looking a little dusty."

She wrinkles her nose at the stale scent of disuse and he sarcastically drawls, "I've been a bit too busy staying alive to bring out the feather duster, but I'll keep that in mind. I'll tell Tommy you stopped by. Kid's been worried about you."

Sil knows that her black eye is still partially visible. The fast acting ointment that Finnick's private doctor gave her only hours before has already done a good job at healing her wounded body. She knows that Dorsey notices it, though he must not realize the full extent of her injuries. It's probably better that way. There's no need to make him overly worried about her when it won't do any good. So instead of acknowledging the very long list of reasons why they  _should_  be concerned, she just nods and says, "I should go before they end up tracking me here."

Dorsey waves her on. When Sil reappears into the dusky streets of the Capitol, she's looking a little livelier than before and more prepared to deal with any new problems that come her way. Lord only knows how many of those she'll have to handle in the future.

* * *

The first of her new problems comes very quickly, barely half an hour later, though she's not fully aware of it. Finnick returns to the apartment while she is gone.

He glances at his watch as he enters the hallway. Returning from work at two A.M. is early for him, usually. He can only imagine that his lax schedule has something to do with those fun little torture sessions Snow is so interested in bringing to his doorstep – or Sil's doorstep, as it is.

He kicks his leather dress shoes to the side, shoving them into the closet near the door in case Sil sees them when she wakes up and freaks out. Her obsession for having a neat and orderly home isn't a bad thing, but it can get a little ridiculous sometimes. Then again, when is Sil not being ridiculous?

The question is too deep for this time of the night, which both amuses and frustrates him. There should be an easy answer to it, after all. Sil is ridiculous because it's her nature. She's ridiculous because she likes her drama and her parties. But no matter how hard Finnick tries, he just can't shake the idea that there is more to her than all that. Her ridiculous nature doesn't always go hand in hand with the rest of her and it infuriates him because he can't understand what he's missing.

Anyway – it doesn't seem to matter that he puts his shoes away instead of leaving them in the hallway, because Sil is not home. He realizes her absence when he goes to check on her, assuming that she's curled up in bed at this hour. But her bed is empty, her sheets neatly pulled to the pillows. It's clear that she hasn't even gotten into bed. This isn't some middle of the night dream that woke her up; she hasn't even gone to sleep at all.

"Sil?" he calls, frowning. His voice seems to echo through the empty apartment.

The fact that she is not here worries him. Has Snow made a visit, knowing that Finnick would be working? Did Felix come back?

He scrubs a hand over his face and decides not to jump to any conclusions. He'll check the other rooms of the apartment before he makes any rash decisions. Like going out into the streets to search for her.

The bathroom is empty, and so is the kitchen when he pokes his head into it. The lights are all off, though, as if she had taken the time to ensure that nothing was out of place before leaving. There doesn't seem to be any evidence of a struggle either. What does throw him off, however, is the nondescript door he discovers off the hallway near the kitchen, a hallway that he had only previously glanced down.

He's only been in the apartment for about a day, and half of that was spent passed out drunk. Sil had never given him a proper tour and he has had neither the time nor the inclination to look around on his own. But now he walks toward it curiously, wondering what is beyond.

"Sil? Are you in here?" he asks loudly, twisting the knob and opening the door. When he looks inside, he's somewhat surprised to see that it is an office. He's half expecting it to be a closet or something.

There's a gleaming mahogany desk set up facing the door, complete with a very comfortable looking leather chair. The surface of the desk is empty save for a few baubles – a paperweight in the shape of a heart, a pencil stand, a few loose paperclips, and a heavy looking binder. Naturally, Finnick is curious.

He walks to the desk and opens the binder, tilting his head as he realizes that inside, there are accounts of the Cornelius estate. With a jolt, he notices that it is a ledger, and that everything recorded inside is written in Sil's own flowery handwriting. Accounts payable, expenses, revenues – it's all there, neatly recorded. The latest entry was made a week ago.

Finnick frowns at the accounting ledger and glances up, moving his eyes around the office with a new expression of respect. It has a very comfortable feel to it, similar in a way to the luxurious ambiance of her home district. There are paintings of landscapes by the door, and the walls are painted a pretty robin's egg blue. Stranger still are the large maps that span the walls. One of them is a huge map of Panem, another of the Capitol. He glances at them with an odd expression that gets even more baffled when he catches sight of several black dots that mark the larger map, spanning across the districts in a very peculiar order that seems to have no purpose. His first impression of this room had been muted surprise and the feeling that Sil very rarely comes in here, but now he wonders if she spends most of her time in this small space.

Strange. He distinctly remembers hearing her say that she hired an accountant to handle the estate, and yet here is proof that this is not the case. He glances back down to the binder and is drawn to the little imprint of the Cornelius family crest, which occupies the front of it.

Against the paper, the bird looks darker and more eerie than he remembers. The wings slash out, black ink coloring the page with its feathers. Three sinister looking snakes wrap themselves around the bird's body. For some reason, the crest looks different from the way it had in its original wooden stature. It looked foreboding, hanging in the foyer of Sil's estate, but here there's an almost mischievous expression on the bird's face that he hadn't noticed in the etched wood carving.

He thinks it looks vaguely familiar to him, as if he's seen it somewhere besides the Cornelius estate. There is a stark honesty to it, as if the bird is saying 'this is what I am'. Unfortunately, that is the very conundrum of his entire relationship with Silver Lamprey Cornelius – never knowing who she really is. He always feels as though there are pieces missing; shards of glass broken from the window of her truth. He can never seem to fully grasp her.

And just when he thinks he's got her figured out…

"Finnick? Whatever are you doing in here?" Sil's voice suddenly wonders, and Finnick jumps a mile high at the abrupt realization that she is standing in the doorway, watching him with a confused, curious expression. He jerks his head up to catch her eye, but she's too busy staring at the ledger beneath his fingers. There's a strange look on her face, an inexplicable wariness.

"If I'd known you'd be home so early, I wouldn't have gone out," she says, turning her eyes to meet his. They're duller, flatter than they'd been a moment ago, as if she's shielding herself from him.

He stares at her, then slowly asks, "Where were you?"

She's not dressed for one of her parties. The black jeans and laced up boots suggest a more utilitarian style that's entirely new for her. The only thing that looks remotely designer is the crisp button up shirt she's wearing – a navy color that looks rather strange compared to her usual bright primal hues.

Sil shrugs and responds with a lighthearted, "Went for a walk. It's been a trying day, and I needed to clear my head. I couldn't sleep." She gives him a smile, but it looks strained and isn't as big as the too-wide grins she shoots unsuspecting Capitolites on a daily basis.

Still, her words make sense. He's willing to accept them. Why else would she go out in the middle of the night? He doesn't know her sleep schedule after only a day of staying with her. Maybe her nightmares are just as bad as his. Victors tend to have many a sleepless night, after all.

Despite his acceptance though, something blares at him from the back of his mind. A red flag is added to the numerous others, all cresting the span of their relationship like wild crows on a dusky horizon. He has this strange gut feeling that she is lying to him.

 _Again,_  his mind whispers. How many lies has she told him, anyway? If she could so easily lie about her part in gathering up women for potential clients and sending innocents off to their deaths, what else does she hide? He glances back down at the ledger and can't help but wonder.

Sil notices. She hadn't thought to put that away. She should have. Finnick's arrival into her apartment had been abrupt. She hadn't had time to prepare for his coming, to wipe away traces of her intelligence or her true identity.

"…I suppose you're wondering why I told my father that I hired an accountant when it's clear that I haven't," she says, because she knows him. He'll pester her for answers about any silly thing he discovers. His stubborn tenacity is one thing she loves about him, but right now she doesn't have time to come up with a tangible excuse.

He makes a sound at the back of his throat and raises an eyebrow at her. "This is your handwriting."

Sil smiles. "Mm…well, managing the accounts can be time consuming. I used to need assistance figuring it all out, but after a while you tend to grasp these kinds of things." She pauses, deciding that it's high time she steers him away from her office before he stumbles upon anything else. "Shall I make some tea? There's this orange spice blend that I find particularly pleasing late at night. Keeps the dreams away."

She winks and turns on her heel. Her heel that is, for once, not four inches tall. Finnick stares at her back as she disappears into the hallway, reluctantly following after her. He'll have to return to her office later – he's curious, naturally. He's always curious about her because he never understands her, and the truths he's just unwittingly discovered are too fascinating to ignore.

Besides, it's only natural to want to learn as much as possible about the women he – no. He doesn't love her. He can't love her. She's Silver Lamprey Cornelius. The laughing stock of the Victors and quite possibly the entire country. She's been setting up his clients for years behind his back. She doesn't care about anyone's wellbeing. She's proved that much by doing Snow's dirty work and giving him countless names of potential rebels. Plus, she should by all accounts be the quintessential definition of every woman he loathes. Ditzy, unable to hold a worthwhile conversation, and unconcerned about the important things in life.

He shifts a hand through his hair and sighs. In the kitchen, Sil is filling the teapot with water. There's a box of tea on the counter, sitting idly beside two matching mugs. As much as he'd like to collapse on the couch, he does like the idea of drinking something hot after the night he just had.

There's nothing worse than a night where he has clients to deal with, and as Sil prepares the tea, Finnick doesn't bother coming up with an excuse to cut this little meeting short. Which is why, five minutes later, they're both sitting on the couch in the living room, sipping their tea as the silence weaves them into little pieces.

It's oddly uncomfortable, Finnick decides. He can't remember ever feeling uncomfortable around Sil. She's always been a bright bolt of sunshine in his life, ever since she haphazardly fell into his course. The awkward silence could be blamed on the late night and perhaps the knowledge that Finnick had spent his between someone else's bedsheets – but he can't help but think that it's something else. Layers upon layers of their confusing relationship, finally breaching up toward breaking point.

"You must be tired," Sil murmurs after a moment, staring sightlessly at the far wall. The muted brown of her living room seems to recede into forever, just like the space between them. How they have gotten so far away baffles her.

Finnick snorts, "My new schedule is horrible. The only reason I'm even here right now is because my last client canceled last minute."

Sil raises her eyebrows and glances at him, "Canceled?" Call it silly, perhaps, but she hadn't thought that was a thing when it came to his forced lifestyle.

He shrugs and carelessly says, "Cold feet, I guess. I  _am_  Finnick Odair, after all."

Sil chuckles beneath her breath and agrees, "You certainly are."

She sips at her tea again and the silence comes back, only to be broken when Finnick slowly asks, "What about you? Has Snow made you…? I mean, I was out for a whole week, so I'm a little behind on the recent horror stories."

She stares at him, but supposes that his question isn't really surprising, especially after Felix's stunt early that morning. What surprises her isn't his curiosity, it's the subtle sound of concern that shifts through his voice. Is he worried for her? Worried that Snow's been making her visit hotel rooms too, as part of her punishment for simply being a Victor?

She smiles a tiny bit and says honestly, "No. Nothing like that. Just endless parties to show Panem that their little socialite hasn't turned into a rebel."

The lilt of sarcasm in her tone makes him chuckle, just a little. The amusement helps to hide his relief, and he sounds lighter when he says, "I can't picture you as the rebel type, to be honest."

He's not looking at her directly, otherwise he might've seen the way her eyes flash and her mouth quirks up. As it is, he completely misses the signs just like he's missed everything else, and Sil merely drawls, "Gracious, it sounds  _quite_  unappealing."

There's no need for him to know that it's not unappealing at all. That it is quite the opposite. At this point, Sil doubts that she will ever find the time or the courage to tell him about her part in all this. Even the thought of broaching the subject makes her feel lightheaded and breathless, fearful that he will turn his nose at her and laugh disbelievingly. Or even worse, tell her to get out of his life once and for all. She's not sure she could handle such a staunch rebuttal, and what would she even say, anyhow?

_Oh Finnick, by the by, I should probably tell you that I'm the Sterling Nightingale. All those things you think you know about me are fake – actually, everything is, because you don't even know me at all._

Gracious, but that sounds like a frightening conversation, even in her head.

"Are you getting tired?" she suddenly asks, wanting to forget about those thoughts for now. She turns to him, only to find that he's already looking at her with a raised eyebrow, as if wondering what kind of question that even is. She smiles prettily and says, "I could draw you a bath, if you'd like. It might make you feel…refreshed."

Refreshed? Good Lord, she really needs to think up a better word. She's got no idea if he'd already showered after his last client or not, if he ever suffers the same aches and pains that she remembers feeling on the rare occasion when Snow lines up a similar schedule for her. Ignoring the huge elephant in the room is more difficult than it seems.

Finnick's eyebrow rises higher. "…You could just ask me if I feel like shit. I do, by the way. I always feel like shit after fucking some stranger four times in one night."

Sil blanches at the crass wording and ends up spilling a bit of hot tea on her lap. She inhales sharply at the scorching burn of the tea, and goes to put her mug down on the table beside the couch. Finnick, for his part, looks slightly chagrined at her reaction.

"Sorry," he mumbles, watching her mop up her dark jeans with a few tissues. "…I don't like to talk about my clients. Especially not with – " he stops himself, swallowing back the rest of his sentence, and clears his throat.

 _With you,_  he'd been about to say. Sil isn't stupid, no matter how often she pretends to be. And she probably deserves that, considering the part she's played in lining up said clients. Still, her heart burns at the thought. After his initial disgust, Finnick's been surprisingly polite to her, almost  _too_  polite really, but it's clear that he still hasn't forgiven her completely despite the fact that she hadn't truly had a choice.

"Though a bath does sound nice," he says after a moment, sighing a little and tipping his head back. Then he smirks, gives her a sidelong glance, and murmurs flirtatiously, "Will you be joining me?"

Her cheeks redden before she can stop herself.  _Joining_  him? This particular reaction of hers seems to pique Finnick's interest, because he stares at her with a surprised smile that looks almost out of place. He can't quite recall seeing her blush so profusely at one of his comments, and he's made a lot of them. So why is she blushing now? She should be used to it at this point.

Sil laughs, pushing any wavering shakiness out of her voice, and rolls her eyes at him, "Finnick my love, I'm not entirely sure you'd be able to handle me."

Her words make him hum and grin. Now this is better – some lighthearted flirting to break the ice that keeps growing between them. This he can do.

"Oh really?" he wonders, turning to face her. He rests his chin on his hand and smirks, "You won't even give your  _husband_  a fighting chance?"

Sil snorts at the word. "Do you want a bath or not? I'm sorely tempted to retract the offer entirely."

Finnick pouts at her but only says, "Fine. A bath sounds great. Will you at least help me wash up? Fix my hair? Lavish me with attention?" He winks and it almost feels as though they are right back to square one, flirting back and forth just for fun.

If Sil is being honest with herself, she isn't just having fun. She means every word she says. She's not just flirting with him for the hell of it – she hasn't been for a long time now. Finnick makes it so easy for people to express their affection. He flirts right back like it's as easy as breathing. Only that's the problem, too, because he never seems to realize when the fun stops and where the seriousness comes into play.

He's still got that flirty expression on his face when Sil sighs and glances at him. She stands up, brushes the wrinkles from her shirt, and sniffs, "I'm just drawing the bath, darling. You can lavish attention on yourself, if you'd like."

Finnicks snorts a little at the slightly dirty way the words sounded, but Sil is already turning her back on him and walking into her bedroom. She's only got one bathtub in her apartment, and it's in the master bath, so Finnick will have to cut across her room to get to it. She's already slightly regretting this decision based on that alone.

Still, she turns the water on hot and starts rummaging around in her cabinets, pulling out bath oils and a bottle of lavender scented bubble bath. In her humble opinion, a bath is one of the finest luxuries she can imagine. She doesn't pull the punches when it comes to the accessories involved.

She pours bubble mixture in, sets out a line of molded soaps, lights a few candles, and puts a soft towel by the tub. She's in the middle of flicking through the music selection installed in her walls when Finnick appears in the doorway.

His eyes are wide as he takes it all in. "Wow," is all he can manage. It's probably as coherent as he'll get for now.

He's taken his fair share of baths, but none of them have ever been like this. He's not really sure what to say.

Luckily, Sil does. She glances up and asks, "Classical violin, or piano? I personally enjoy Chopin's Nocturnes. Something so relaxing about them."

For what feels like the first time since meeting her, Finnick is struck with the alarmingly enchanted realization of her being knowledgeable about these sorts of things. Classical music? It doesn't seem to fit in with her party lifestyle, but she  _was_  born into a wealthy family. Gemma seems like the type of parent who would be just aristocratic enough to instill a love of the classics onto his daughter.

He decides not to mention that he has no idea who Chopin is or what his Nocturnes are. Having been raised in a hard working community with no time for silly intricacies, Finnick  _doesn't_  know his classical music. Unless one would consider wild, rowdy fiddling to be classical. He somehow doubts she would.

His silence makes Sil glance up at him patiently. When she sees his face, which probably gives away his confusion, she smiles gently and says, "I'm positive you'll like it. It's the perfect remedy for a bad day."

He only nods, and Sil turns back to the remote in her hand, flickering over the screen on top of it as she searches for her selection. He watches her curiously as she does, unbuttoning his dress shirt. She doesn't seem to notice. By the time she does, he's already kicking his pants off, and Sil's eyes widen in surprise.

" _Gracious,_  Finnick," she mutters, shielding her eyes. He only laughs and tugs the rest of his clothes off without concern. It's only when he's sitting in the tub that Sil peaks through her fingers at him.

It really isn't fair when he pulls a stunt like that. It makes everything so much more difficult. Hiding her feelings is a lot harder to do when he's stripping down right in front of her. She turns to look at him now, relieved that his eyes are shut as he shifts to get comfortable in the spacious tub. Now that she thinks about it, it's even harder keeping her feelings under wraps when he's like  _this_.

His bare chest is on full display, corded arms resting on the side of the tub, head tilted back. His bronze hair shines in the dim light, and suddenly the world shrinks down to encompass only this little room. Only him. It feels a lot more romantic than she'd intended. Especially when Liszt's  _Liebestraum_  comes on the radio.

She blushes and turns to the remote, flicking through it again to continue her search for Chopin. She starts typing in the name, but gets only halfway there when Finnick suddenly muses, "This is the song we danced to at the Gala."

Sil pauses, finger poised above the 'enter' button, and jerks her head up. He's staring at her with half-lidded eyes. The blue looks like dark sapphire in this lighting. Her first coherent thought is that he's beautiful. Her second is that he actually  _remembers_.

"…Yes. It's Liszt. Liebestraum. It means Love Dream," she haltingly tells him, staring into his eyes. He doesn't look away. It feels like he's commandeered her gaze.

She hurries to break the silence with a hesitant, "I – I'll leave you to it." She gets up.

Finnick grasps her wrist and pulls her back.

"Stay," he says, capturing her gaze once again. She stares at him but can't possibly say no, not when he's looking at her like that, as if she's the only one who's ever captured his attention in such a way. So she holds down a fierce shiver and sinks to the floor, reclaiming her kneeling position beside the porcelain tub.

Her hesitance must show up on her face, because Finnick chuckles and tells her, "Relax, sugar. I'm not gonna steal your innocence. I just want some company."

Several things go through her head then. The first is that Finnick's laugh sounds husky and erotic, and when he calls her 'sugar', she has to clench her hands down into fists to stop them from shaking. There's also the fact that he must still find some part of her innocent despite the truths he's recently learned about her. She doesn't answer, just clears her throat lightly and tries not to look at him lest she start staring.

Finnick smirks at her and pushes forward, leaning his forearms against the rim of the tub and tilting his head to the side. He studies the blush in her cheeks in profound silence, during which she'd like nothing more than to run and hide from his searching gaze. She's not sure what he's looking for, or if he's found it, but the growing softness in his expression definitely makes her wonder.

There is a clash of music, a rift in the song. The notes of Liebestraum crescendo and dive into Sil's favorite part. The tinkling of the piano rises higher and higher and higher, until it all crashes back down into the lower octaves with a jolting flourish.

She doesn't even realize that her eyes are closed until she feels Finnick's hand slip into hers. Her eyes burst open, half expecting to see him smirking wildly at her, ready to make fun of the way she can so easily lose herself in a song. But instead, Finnick's just watching her closely, chin resting on the back of his hand, knee propped up above the water – fingers closed firmly around hers.

She looks down at their hands and wonders what, exactly, he's doing. His thumb brushes over the back of her hand and shivers race through her. The hot water makes his touch warmer than normal. Smoother, too.

"This is the part where I grabbed your waist and dipped you, remember?" he murmurs, mouth tilting up into a half smile. "You were surprised because you didn't think I knew how to dance." He chuckles, and the rich sound of it makes Sil release a slow breath, trying to stay steady and composed.

"…Mhmm…and now I'm surprised that you remember this song," she admits. Against her better judgment, she feels herself smile, too, at the memories of that dance. Dancing with Finnick had felt like something out of a dream. She was sure it was partly because before that point, she'd had no idea that Finnick was capable of such a feat. But it was mostly because it had been  _Finnick_.

They both pause to listen to the familiar dip of the music. The piano entrenches the room with subtle romantic ques, made all the more poignant with the way Finnick is fearlessly grasping her hand.

"My father plays this song quite well on the piano at home," Sil murmurs after a moment, breaking the silence softly. She smiles, "He used to tell me stories of all the songs he knows. According to him, this one is about a forbidden romance. He seems to think there's something almost bitter about it. Like a dream you try to hold onto, but it keeps slipping away…"

She swallows tightly and looks down at their hands. She thinks the analogy fits surprisingly well, for them. It's almost a scary thought, really, that their fate is to forever change, like tides that always move to separate them.

Perhaps it is the strangely poignant atmosphere in the room – perhaps it's merely the way her heart keeps beating in time with the music, as if it's trying to break free and join the choir of sound. Whichever, Sil feels as though she needs to explain things to him. Set things straight. Perhaps even tell him just how much he means to her. Now that is a scary thought too. To admit what is in one's heart. To be honest.

"Finnick – " she starts, almost trembling. In the last seven years of her life, she has never dealt much with honesty, but she should've known he'd make things easy for her. He always does.

"I forgive you," he murmurs, squeezing her hand tightly between his fingers. Sil jerks her head up to stare at him, blinking back waves of confusion and, dare she say it? Tears.

"…What?" she whispers, holding onto him for dear life.

He quietly says, "At least I'm trying to. Sil, I wish…I wish you had just told me from the beginning. I know Snow doesn't give his Victors much choice." He closes his eyes and sighs, "I know it more than most."

She swallows around the lump building in her throat and sets her jaw against the onslaught of incoming tears. She must look very pathetic, sitting on the cold tiled floor and grasping his hand with trembling fingers. Compared to the innate confidence in his every movement, Sil feels extremely unprepared. Maybe she always has, with him. Even in the beginning, it rather felt as though he was miles above her in every way.

"I know it isn't worth much," she whispers, reaching forward in a moment of emboldened courage, "but I am truly sorry, Finnick. Every time I have to barter with those women I feel sick to my stomach."

She brushes his hair from his forehead. His eyes flutter open to watch her. That he doesn't recoil from her touch makes her more relieved than she lets on.

"I've been thinking about it a lot," he tells her with a deep, heavy sigh. "I understand that part of it, but I don't get how you can lead all those rebels to their deaths. Explain it to me."

It almost sounds like he's begging. Like he's praying for an answer that doesn't paint her into a truly despicable person. As if he's searching for some hint of light to even out the darkness. Sil doesn't know what to tell him. It's true that she's become Snow's eyes and ears at every party, slipping gossip out of anyone willing to give into her forced charms. It's true that, when she must, she gives Snow the names of anyone who might be a potential rebel. It's even true that he expects it of her, at this point. But it is all done to keep her mask firmly in place – to show Snow that she is loyal, that she is trustworthy. She  _needs_  him to trust her. It's all part of the grand scheme keeping the Sterling Nightingale afloat, keeping her hidden right in the center of the snake pit.

Finnick doesn't know that. He thinks she's naively giving the President these names out of fear for herself. He doesn't know that every name she gives him is a person she ends up sneaking out of the Capitol right from underneath his nose. She doesn't leave any loose threads – but Finnick doesn't know it, and neither do the rest of the Capitol's citizens. Most of her dealings as the Nightingale are kept firmly in the dark, unpublicized, lest the Capitol go into an uproar. They surely would, if they realized just how often their 'potential rebels' end up escaping.

She knows it drives Snow insane, always being one step behind, but it wouldn't be possible if she doesn't masquerade as the stupidest socialite in Panem. Being a fool has one upside, at least, and that is the fact that no one would ever suspect her for being the mastermind behind each and every rebel movement in the heart of the Capitol.

Her apartment is bugged and she can't tell Finnick all of this. She uses that as her internal excuse for not confessing everything to him. She doesn't want to outright admit to herself that she is really just afraid of his reaction.

So instead of telling him. Instead of initiating him into her deepest secret, Sil just clears her throat and murmurs, "It isn't so bad, really. The President surely doesn't sentence them to death unless they've done something to deserve it. He can be a forgiving man if he chooses to be."

The words feel rotten even as she says them aloud, though her voice is optimistic. Naïve even. She wants him to think of her like that. Let him assume that she is just being idealistic. Let him think that she hasn't really thought her actions through. It is better than watching him turn away if,  _when,_  he learns that she has been lying to him since before they'd even met.

He doesn't look impressed by her words and she isn't surprised. Out of everyone in Panem, the Victors know firsthand how cruel and merciless President Snow can be. That Sil, a Victor herself, isn't willing to admit this (at least out loud), seems to take him aback.

"…You can't actually believe that," he whispers, looking strangely serious. He stares at her until she looks away, somewhat chagrined by his words. Then he sighs.

"Silver…you can't really be  _that_   _idealistic_  about the Capitol. You don't sound like the woman I know."

And therein lays the imbalance. Sil blinks at him, and slowly tells him, "Perhaps you don't know me as well as you think you do, Finnick."

Then she shifts her hand away from his and gets up. They stare at each other for a long moment before she turns away.

Before she can leave, though, he blurts, "President Snow wants me to find the Sterling Nightingale or he's going to hurt Annie."

The sudden, unexpected admission makes Sil immediately freeze. It is good that her back is turned to him, because her expression is one of dawning horror – and inexplicable hardness. When she spins around to face him, she manages to wrangle most of it down.

" _What?"_  she demands, clearly caught off guard. She stares at Finnick, searching his eyes with desperate intent. She had of course suspected that this was the case from the very beginning, but to hear him say it aloud like this – to hear him put it into such stark words…

He clamps down his jaw and shoves a hand through his hair, grinding out a rough, "The man you claim to worship so much is a monster, Sil. President Snow doesn't know the meaning of mercy. You're wrong about him, just like you're wrong about everything else. You have  _no idea_  – " he swallows tightly, before pushing forward with a glare. "Do you know how hard it is? I can't let him hurt Annie, but the thought of sending the Nightingale to his death is…Sil, what should I do?"

He has no idea why he's asking her. What could Silver Lamprey Cornelius possibly say to him that would ever make him feel better? She might be less insipid than he thought she was, way back before he had gotten to know her, but she's still the same naïve, witless District 1 Victor that she's always been. Her methods of ignoring the sinister underbelly of the Capitol in favor of parties and fashion is not exactly the most stellar advice in this moment.

She just stares at him with wide eyes, as if she's also not sure why he'd asked. As if she, too, has no idea what words of comfort she could possibly give him.

The sight of her makes Finnick grit his teeth and let out a sarcastic laugh. He turns away from her and mutters, "Just – forget it. If you don't mind, I think I'll get dressed."

The dismissal is just as unexpected as his previous words, but Sil doesn't dare linger in the small space to see whether he means it or not. No, just like she always does when it comes to him, she flees.

"…You…you must do what you think is right," she haltingly tells him before she leaves, stepping back as if the very words she utters burn her throat. As if the very sight he makes is suddenly a curse upon her eyes. She stares at him as if he is a stranger and breathes, "I suppose…you must choose between Annie and the Nightingale."

Their eyes clash headily, locked in a challenge that only one of them truly understands, because only one of them truly knows who the Sterling Nightingale actually is, and what sort of ultimatum she is actually giving him.

Annie or the Nightingale. Annie, or her. Gracious, but that is a choice that Sil does not want to stick around to hear, because…

She has a feeling that she will not come first.

And as she turns and runs from the room and from the heavy way his eyes take her in, Finnicks muses on the strange sincerity of her advice and the blunt honesty of her tone. And for the hundredth time already, he thinks that perhaps her previous words prove to be correct after all. Maybe he really doesn't really know her at all.


	32. It makes no difference

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which the act continues, with an added variable thrown into their path.
> 
> This is a chapter that I recently added into the story, because apparently the plot wasn't as complicated as it needed to be and I like to make myself suffer. I hope you all enjoy, and stick around for the next update which will be posted momentarily. I will be heading down to Florida for a few days after Christmas, so Chapter 34 will be posted on January 1st rather than this Friday.
> 
> Now that that's out of the way, I hope you all have a wonderful Christmas! Thanks for all the feedback and follows on this story, it means so much to me :)

 

**Chapter Thirty Two | It makes no difference**

" _With his worldly inanities, his foppish ways, and foolish talk, he was not only wearing a mask, but was playing a deliberate and studied part." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

The Capitol soirees and galas that Sil has spent years attending do not stop just because of the recent events that are happening within Panem. In fact, Sil would even claim that the attention on the rebellion has driven even more invitations her way, and she is not in the position to refuse them. Oh, some of them she can, and does – little gatherings that do not fit in with the rest of her schedule are left to the wayside – but she could not have refused this particular invite even if she had a solid excuse.

The Plaza is bustling tonight, and not just with the gamblers and ravers who make use of the clubs and casinos on the lower levels. The whole of high society is gathered on the penthouse floor, and by the time Sil and Finnick arrive at ten o'clock that night, the party is already in full swing.

Finnick is not very happy to be here, least not with her, though he does make an effort to hide his displeasure as Sil hooks her hand around his arm and peers around the room. She recognizes a few familiar faces – CEOs, wealthy heiresses, high bred Capitolites – but makes no move to throw herself into the fray. She doesn't have to; they come to her.

Like a swarm, the moment Sil and Finnick enter the room, people notice them. The latest drama concerning the rebellious Victors has captured the Capitol's attention like nothing else, and to have both Finnick and Sil, the only Victors who are seemingly loyal to Snow, at one of  _their_  parties…well, it is a thrill to these creatures. Finnick has to forcefully navigate Sil through the throng of people just to avoid being trampled by their excitement. Sil is sure that it appears utterly romantic, the way he hooks an arm around her waist and guides her over to the bar, but in truth, he practically drags her across the room in his effort to escape. Not that she can really blame him.

"What can I get you?" the bartender asks once they reach the relative safety of the counter. The man is as Capitolian as every other who graces these rooms tonight. He's dressed in a more toned down outfit than the guests, but he's wearing sparkling electric blue eyeshadow that rather counteracts the effect.

Finnick is too busy glancing over his shoulder, no doubt gauging whether or not they're really safe here or if they're going to get run over by more of their adoring fans, so Sil leans forward and says over the loud beat of the music, "A margarita, darling – and perhaps a whiskey on the rocks for my husband?"

She grabs Finnick's arm to center his attention, and he balks a little as he clears his throat. "…Yeah. Whiskey."

Inside, he's pondering the ease with which she had claimed him as her husband, and he frankly isn't sure how he feels about it. What a mess they are in. All of their pretenses seem to have grown wild and uncontrollable in such a short amount of time, like weeds that can't stop multiplying no matter how often they are pulled.

The bartender looks somewhat crestfallen.  _"Just_  a whiskey? Can I spruce it up a bit? Maybe add something extra?"

Finnick looks a bit annoyed at the bartender's apparent artistic flare, so Sil quickly jumps in to say, "You're so sweet to offer, my love – gracious, I'm sure that sounds perfect for later this evening, but we've only just arrived, you know." She throws the man one of her too-wide smiles. It seems to throw him back a bit, because he stupidly grins at her with adoring eyes and happily nods, pushing off the bar to make their drinks.

Finnick rolls his eyes at her. Sil raises an eyebrow.

"…What?" she demands when he doesn't say anything.

He just mutters, "You flirt with  _everyone."_

There's a strange tone to his voice that makes Sil a little confused, because it almost sounds like jealousy. But – it can't be. Finnick doesn't think of her in that way. To him, she is just a silly, thoughtless creature, and he's only here with her tonight because he has to be. She pushes her chin up with a scoff and informs him, "What's so bad about that? Being polite to people will get you places, my love."

Finnick gives her a look and leans in to quietly tell her, "Yes, but seeing as the entire country thinks we're married, you should rein it in a bit, don't you think?"

He says the word like it's a curse. In a way, it is. A part of him wishes he hadn't tied himself to Sil the way he had before the start of the Quarter Quell. Perhaps if he had been more cautious with his actions, he wouldn't have to play the doting husband. He wouldn't be here now, at this party, by this woman's side, pretending to be a man senselessly in love.

And yet…

And yet. It's a strange thing, but these days, he doesn't know where else he should be but at her side. He doesn't understand her – her blind idealism makes him grimace in disgust, sometimes – but neither can he deny the tangled beat of his heart whenever she is near, or the almost soothing way her presence affects him, or the fact that every once in a while, he thinks he sees a side of her that is so much  _more_  than he ever thought she had.

More of what, he doesn't know. Not yet.

She simpers at him. He simpers back, until she reaches up to fix his already pristine tie and murmurs, "Darling, if I didn't know you any better, I'd say that you were  _jealous."_ She gives him a faux-shocked expression and he purses his mouth at her.

Then, as if trying to one-up her (as usual), Finnick hooks his arm around her waist and drags her against him. His other hand grasps her hip as he turns his head to her ear and, against it, whispers, "And if I didn't know  _you_  any better, I'd say you're trying to put the spotlight on us."

The heat of his hand on her hip seems to burn through the thin silk dress she's wearing, making her shiver just a little as she leans into him. He's wearing expensive cologne tonight. It smells divine on him, and she thinks she could stand in the circle of his arms for an age and never want for anything else. Just – maybe not in such a crowded, public place.

But that is the backbone of their relationship, is it not? They are in love when they are in public. They are strangers when they are not.

Noticing the way people are glancing at their position and whispering to each other, Sil huffs and turns her head to face him. She pretends not to be distracted at the way the movement pushes their faces so close together, and just sighs, "The spotlight is already on us, I'm afraid. We might as well use it to our advantage."

He raises an eyebrow at her and wonders, "What good would that do us?" Then, smirking, he leans in closer and whispers, "Are you sure you don't have any other reasons?"

The insinuation makes her blush and laugh incredulously, hands fisting in the lapels of his blazer. "Gracious!" she complains, and tries to step back. Only, he doesn't let her, and merely drags her back against him with a laugh that sounds suspiciously genuine. His eyes are full of mirth when he catches her gaze, as if he's actually having a decent time all of the sudden.

She's not sure if she should trust that expression. Finnick is so good at acting his part. He's so good at convincing Panem that he loves her, that he's even convinced  _her_  of it a few times more than she cares to admit – until her sensibilities have forced him back onto his pedestal.

She wills herself to remember the way he has looked at her these past few days. The frowning countenance, the reluctant gazes, the stiff smiles. He is not so very good at pretending when they are in private. But – oh, the gentle cadence of his presence when he is too relaxed and at ease to be upset with her! The softness of his eyes when, every so often, he turns to her and sends her a smile that does not seem reluctant at all! The candid words woven through the quiet of her apartment when he has told her, in so many ways, that he at least partially understands why she has done what she's done…

Sometimes she forgets all the reasons why she shouldn't love him.

"Well," he murmurs, drifting a hand up to cup her cheek. He turns her head towards him, thumbing over her cheekbone and tilting her head back. His fingertips brush into the silken blonde hair that she'd spent an hour styling into the intricate updo it's currently twisted in. He watches her swallow. She looks a little surprised at the way he's suddenly leaning over her, caressing her in such a soft manner.

He smiles crookedly, nose brushing hers, and breathes, "We might as well give these people a show…"

Sil's hands tighten on his blazer, but she doesn't pull away when he kisses her. She feels that it is somewhat pathetic, the way his kiss seems to erase the rest of the room so completely. Pathetic, because like always, Finnick is only kissing her because they are in front of people and because it is expected of them. And yet –

Gracious, but she lets him. She sinks into him, hands flying up to press against his cheeks and pull him closer. He lets out a soft grunt at the adamant reaction, opening his eyes just slightly to view her. There's something in her expression that makes it seem as though she desperately wants him to keep kissing her – that this feeling is real and genuine and sincere. It confuses him a little, but he doesn't stop to consider it. At this point, it takes far too much effort to wonder at the connection he has with her. He thinks that it goes beyond the superficial qualities that it once possessed, but that is as far as his thoughts take him before he pulls her closer and kisses her deeper.

Oh, but the room is in an uproar. It's funny, how many people gasp and point and gossip at the very passionate show of affection – yet, neither Finnick nor Sil really notice them. They surely make for quite a sight, dressed to the nines in their most expensive clothes and surrounded by such lavish furnishings, but the external world holds little weight in the cadences of their kiss. They are far more focused on each other…until the bartender clears his throat and awkwardly slides their drinks towards them.

Then, as if burned, Finnick pulls away and clears his throat, reaching up to press the back of his hand against his mouth as if he can't quite believe that he had just kissed Silver Lamprey Cornelius in a room full of Capitolites. And though Sil believes that this is the reason for the sudden way he pulls back, she is wrong. The real reason is because Finnick is surprised – shocked, even – that he had kissed her and had not even  _noticed_  that room of people. That, the moment she had begun to kiss him back, he'd completely forgotten where they even were.

There have been many public kisses between them, meant to stir the interests of the Capitol and to convince the country that they are senselessly in love. He cannot even count how many times he has kissed the woman in front of him. By now, all of those moments are blurred and uneven, lost to the traces of time. Those moments did not mean anything. This one, though…

He cannot say that he has ever kissed her and forgot himself. In fact, he can't say that he's ever kissed  _anyone_  to such an end. How is it that he has lost himself in the press of her lips and the warmth of her body? Has he ever felt that way before? He doesn't think so.

He stares down at her with a baffled sort of expression, and Sil raises an eyebrow at him and pats his cheek. When she drawls, "You look like you're in dire need of a drink, Finnick darling," it's meant to wake him out of the stupor he seems to have fallen into. Regardless of the harsh beat of her heart against her ribcage, or the quiet press of her own despair at the apparent rejection of his reaction to her, it works wonders.

Finnick purses his lips, reaches for his drink, and takes a generous sip of it. Sil follows suit, holding her margarita demurely and sending the bartender another of her bright smiles. This time, Finnick doesn't complain at the flirtatious nature of it. He's far too busy turning away from her to study the rest of the room. And – if his hands shake around his drink, well, neither of them mentions it.

There are so many things that neither of them mentions.

"Silver, darling, you look so fabulous in that Linault gown. I recognized it a mile away," a Capitol woman suddenly chimes to their left, drawing their attention from the suddenly awkward lurch of space that fills the atmosphere between their bodies.

Perhaps, if they both knew how genuine their respective feelings were for one another, they would laugh at that awkwardness. As it is, though…

Sil barely manages to press a beaming smile upon her face as she tucks her arm back around Finnick's, and laughingly says, "Thank you, my love. Oh – look Finnick, they're taking photographs over there – let's get in line!"

She drags him away from the suddenly crowded bar, nearly making him spill his drink in the process, and pulls him right into the sway of the crowd. Finnick doesn't want to make a scene, but he is a little annoyed at the abrupt move. He sends her a look that Sil takes note of, but doesn't respond to. He'll thank her once they find another spot that gives them some semblance of quiet peace. Of course, such a thing is difficult to come by at one of these parties, especially with so many high rolling Capitolites who are eager for their attention.

Somehow, she manages to find a spot in the back of the ballroom. Finnick just sighs and unhooks his arm from hers, wary of her sudden movements and not wanting to be dragged through the crowd again. Sil pretends not to notice and just takes a sip of her margarita, trying to ignore the strange cadence of awkwardness that still manages to perforate the spaces between them.

Maybe it's the implications of their connection and the consequences of the rebellion. Maybe it's the fact that they are together in public, and they are expected to act in a certain way. Maybe it's everything, snowballing together: the stress of the last few weeks, the shock of the recent events, the worry that being in the center of the Capitol brings. Maybe it doesn't even  _matter_  what it is that creates this strange energy between them – just that they feel it.

How do they return to the pedestal that they were on before? Is there even a way? And if there is, does Sil even want to go back there? Sometimes, her desires are so complicated and tangled that she doesn't even know what she wants anymore.

"How's your whiskey?" Sil finds herself asking, just to break through the atmosphere that stands between them like towering walls.

She thinks it's strange that, only moments before, they had been locked together in an embrace that she had fallen so willingly into, and now…

It's the story of their relationship, she reminds herself with a wry, humorless smile. Whatever it is that spans the air between his body and hers, she has never been able to understand it, nor put words to the undertones that weigh it down.

Finnick glances down at his drink and shrugs. "Fine."

They fall into silence again, and they probably would have remained in it if it hadn't been for the sudden sight that greets them from across the room.

They both see him at the same time. It's almost poetic, how Sil reaches out to grasp Finnick's sleeve in the same moment that he turns to her with his mouth dropping in surprise.

Sil tightly asks, "Is that…?"

And Finnick cuts in with a strained, "They let him out?"

Peeta Mellark looks fantastic. He looks better than fantastic. He looks as if he's been whiling away the last few weeks at some luxurious spa that had catered to his every need. His skin has a healthy glow to it, and his eyes are bright and creased with a smile. He's dressed extravagantly in the latest Capitol fashion – fine velvet black suit with a dress shirt that's cut diagonally across his chest. In his hand, he's holding a drink, and he's speaking to some Capitol man who is apparently funny enough to make Peeta laugh.

Sil stares at him hard, and whispers harshly, "He looks wonderful. What's happened?"

The question is oddly worded, but Finnick understands what her meaning is. Peeta's been stuck in a cell for the last few weeks, after all. Neither of them has heard nor seen any traces of the other Victors who had been captured by the Capitol after the Quarter Quell. To suddenly see Peeta at a party of this caliber, looking so healthy and unconcerned, is baffling.

Finnick puts his drink down and reaches for Sil's hand, pressing it firmly into the crook of his arm so that he doesn't lose her. Then, glancing down at her with a firm expression, he murmurs, "Let's go find out for ourselves."

Sil's only response is to nod. This time, she lets  _him_  drag her across the room.

As they approach, Peeta looks up at them and grins broadly, as if he's been waiting to greet them. Sil scrambles to put a hasty smile on her face and reaches out to gently touch his arm.

"Peeta, darling, you look fabulous in that suit," she compliments, trying to appear a bit insipid while she figures out what game this is that they find themselves embroiled in. President Snow wouldn't just let Peeta out of his cell for no reason. There's something strange going on and she intends on getting to the bottom of it.

Peeta chuckles. When he responds, his voice is light and almost carefree. "Thanks, Sil. You look gorgeous, as usual. Hi Finnick."

At her side, Finnick sends him a tight smile and smoothly says, "Peeta. What are you doing here? I thought parties weren't your thing."

The question makes Peeta frown a bit. Sil studies the expression closely, noticing the almost confusing way his eyes flicker at them.

"…Why wouldn't they be?" he asks, raising an eyebrow at Finnick, who raises his in turn. "I'm a Victor, aren't I? I can go to a party if I want to."

Before Finnick can open his mouth and make the situation even more tense than it already is, Sil jumps in with an airy laugh and chimes, "Of course you can, darling!" She removes her arm from Finnick's to instead drape it around Peeta's, and pulls him away from the Capitol man he'd been talking with before. As she does, she trills, "And what a party it is! Oh don't worry, my love, I'll show you around and introduce you to several of my friends – "

With a start, Peeta tears his arm from Sil's and firmly says, "No thank you. I'll be leaving soon anyway. I'm only here for an hour or two."

Sil gives him an imperious look and reaches for his arm again. "Don't be silly, Peeta. We're both Victors, after all. We should stick together – "

She doesn't know what it is about her words, but Peeta's reaction to them is startling. He forcefully drags his arm back again, but this time, the movement is so rough that Sil ends up losing her grip on her margarita glass and it shatters to the floor. She stumbles just a bit, staring at him in baffled surprise as he grinds out, "We're nothing alike. You Victors are traitorous rebels."

The turn of phrase and the poison behind it makes Sil's mouth drop open in shock. Finnick puts a hand on her lower back, pulling her into his side and staring at Peeta with careful eyes.

"…I'm not sure what you're talking about, Peeta," he says slowly, glancing around. A few Capitolites have turned to watch the scene, having heard the shattering of glass. Finnick purses his mouth and murmurs, "If we were rebels, we wouldn't be at this party, would we?"

Peeta doesn't even seem to hear him though. He's shaking his head in a strange manner, as if he's got a headache and it's tearing him in half. Sil stares at him, gripping Finnick and wondering what is wrong with their normally calm friend. It doesn't take a genius to figure it out, though.

The Capitol has gotten to him. They've somehow been able to turn his mind against the rebel cause. The only question is how far they've managed to go.

Before Sil can press the issue or glean any further information on this startling twist of fate, two Peacekeepers enter the scene, drawn in by the strange way Peeta is acting. They appear on either side of Peeta. One of them touches him on the shoulder, and the action seems to ground him somehow, for he stops shaking his head and just stands there blinking in confusion.

He looks up at Sil, and the moment their eyes clash, she thinks she sees the real him somewhere inside the contours of his gaze – but it vanishes within moments, and Peeta sends them a dry smile that looks foreign on the planes of his face.

"It looks like I'll be going now. It was nice seeing you two," he tells them, and allows the Peacekeepers to escort him away.

For a long moment, neither Finnick nor Sil say a single word. But after that moment, Sil turns to him and hisses, "They've done something to him. Did you see how he looked at us? He's never looked like that before."

Finnick's expression is drawn and heavy. His hand tightens about her waist when he murmurs, "Come on, sugar. Let's dance."

Sil immediately asks, "Dance?" in an incredulous voice, but Finnick just pulls her onto the dance floor and doesn't take no for an answer. It's partially because he wants to take the attention off of them, and partially because when he pulls Sil close, it's a lot easier to talk to her in a nondescript manner.

"…He needs to get out of the Capitol," he murmurs, laying his hands on Sil's hips and hovering over her. She doesn't question the move, now that she realizes what he's doing, and merely draws her hands around his shoulders and leans against him.

"Don't be ridiculous, Finnick," she responds, glad he can't see her face in their current position. "No one would be able to accomplish that."

Finnick though…he knows someone who might be able to succeed. Someone who has succeeded where no one else has before. Someone who can secret themselves into the very heart of the Capitol and enter the prisons to rescue the other Victors. The words burn him when he gives them voice, but he somehow manages to whisper, "The Sterling Nightingale could."

Sil tenses in his arms.

"Snow is breathing down my neck about this anyway. Maybe if I could get into contact with the Nightingale somehow…I could broker a deal with him," he muses, swaying to the beat of the music. He barely feels it though. He barely feels anything, too focused as he is on this most recent thought.

As for Sil, she's focused on another matter entirely. With a frown, she turns to him and breathes, "You said Snow has Annie, and that he's threatening you with her."

The admission had been abrupt and startling. She had needed time to consider it. Time that she doesn't have. In lieu of the endless spiral of chaos they find themselves in here in the Capitol, it hasn't been easy to communicate with her agents for more than a few minutes at a time – hardly long enough to have any worthwhile conversations or to make any decent plans.

Finnick catches her eye and swallows thickly. In a tight voice, he whispers, "If the Nightingale could get the Victors out of the Capitol – and Annie too – then he wouldn't be able to threaten me anymore."

It's almost amusing how this situation has aligned so poignantly with the events of the last few weeks. Sil knows that District 13 is already planning on rescuing the Victors, and the Nightingale has also been planning on playing her part in the escapade. Perhaps it's time to deal with this problem once and for all. To make Finnick stop inquiring after the Nightingale, and to handle Snow's threats at the same time.

Her expression abruptly changes on him, lips pulling back into a simpering smile that looks very out of place given the serious conversation they've just been having. Finnick frowns at her in confusion – until she tritely pats his shoulder and says, "Well darling, you're in luck!"

He raises an eyebrow.

Sil laughs. "We're at a party, my love! If, by some mercy, you were right about the Nightingale being a member of high society, then we're in the prime position to inquire about it. Thank heavens you have me, darling, otherwise you'd be helpless."

And before Finnick can do anything, Sil is raising a hand and calling, "Oh, Opal darling! How ravishing you look tonight! Where is Vana tonight? She usually sticks to your side like glue. Now my love, my husband and I were just contemplating something quite curious – let's get a drink and discuss it, shall we? Oh, it's just for fun you know, like one of our card games – "

Finnick watches in bewilderment as Sil disappears with the woman, blending effortlessly into the sea of other Capitol creatures and leaving him on the dance floor. To say that he is baffled would be an understatement, though at this point, he can't entirely claim to be surprised.

* * *

Finnick has been to plenty of parties over the time he's been a Victor, and at nearly all of them, Silver Lamprey Cornelius has also attended. It's very strange, though, how fascinating it is to watch her flit around, speaking to her many friends and acquaintances. It isn't as if he's never noticed the social qualities she possesses; it's that he's never been in the middle of them before.

" – and I said, 'darling, that is an atrocity of the highest order'! Opal, love, don't pout, I meant no offense," Sil laughs, tipping her head back and patting the woman's shoulder happily. "If you ask me, the man couldn't possibly be one of us! Why, I'd bet my entire estate on it!"

Her group of adoring Capitolites gasp at the shock of such a claim. One of the men leans forward and reaches for her hand. As he draws her fingers into his own, he shakes his head and says, "Don't say such a thing, Sil darling! Who would you be without your wealth? Money is important."

Finnick barely manages to rein in the disgusted look that threatens to cross his face at the man's words – and to keep himself from ripping Sil's hand out of his grasp. He purses his lips and glances at Sil, who is nodding sagely as if she's just received the most incredible advice she's ever heard.

"Surely you're right," she concedes, then twists her hand free to instead raise it up into the air. Pointing skyward, she trills, "Nonetheless, I stand by what I said. What do you think, darling? Oh, tell me – I'm dying to know."

She leans into the man's space, eyes eager. The man (whose name Finnick honestly can't remember, only that it starts with an M) puffs his chest out and looks positively enamored to be current center of Sil's world – for however long the exultation lasts.

"Well, it does make sense," he tells her, speaking down to her in a way that makes Finnick even more annoyed than he already is. Honestly, the moment they sat down in this corner of the room and gathered all these ridiculous creatures to them, Sil has turned into an entirely different person. She doesn't make a move to assert herself in the way he knows she can. She hasn't said a single worthwhile thing since the start of this conversation, except to begin it by bringing up the Nightingale. She doesn't even seem like the woman he knows her to be, having been in close quarters with her for months now. He knows she isn't as stupid as she appears. He's seen it multiple times, in multiple ways. But for some reason, she is hiding herself from these people. She is pretending to be someone he knows that she is not.

Granted, Finnick doesn't think that Sil is the most incredible woman alive. She isn't that smart, and she's too idealistic sometimes, and too generous and too insipid. But despite his occasionally less than stellar perspective of her character, he is at least aware that she isn't nearly as aggravating when they are alone as she is acting right now.

He doesn't try to stop her though. In a way, it's fascinating to watch her pry information out of these unsuspecting creatures, spinning false gossip and rumors about the greatest spy in Panem in hopes of ascertaining information that they could use. She's trying to help, he reminds himself. He should be thankful for it.

"The question is, who could he be? A businessman? A shopkeeper? He's surely located in the Capitol, otherwise he wouldn't be able to do his job," the man muses.

The woman – Opal – jumps in and laughs, "Perhaps he's in this very room, at this very moment!" The words make them all go silent, and Opal frowns, eyeing the others who are sitting on the couches and murmuring, "…Perhaps he's right here, listening to this conversation."

The silence is almost consuming, until Sil bursts into laughter and playfully chimes, "Oh please, Opal. What a thing to say! How positively enticing! What do you think, Finnick darling?"

She turns to Finnick with an amused, edged look in her eye that makes him raise an eyebrow. "…Well if he is among us right now, I wish he'd just tell us and put us out of our misery."

Sil laughs even harder at this, as do the rest of the Capitolites that are gathered there, and snickers, "My love, what would become of the man without his secret?" He raises an eyebrow at her and she leans back into his chest, tilting her chin up to whisper, "Secrets are ammunition, don't you agree?"

Finnick stares at her, brows furrowed just so. There's something strange about her words and the tone in which they are bathed in. Something that makes him wonder about the secrets that  _she_  perhaps carries. Her eyes are wide and clear, but something flashes in the depths of them. Something far too enchanting not to notice.

He opens his mouth to respond to her, but someone beats him to it.

"Perhaps the Nightingale will reveal himself soon. He's a rebel, after all, and there are many rebel captives in the Capitol these days," one of the men says with a careless shrug. He clearly doesn't care all that much about those rebel captives, or what is being done to them. Then again, the harsh underbelly of Capitol society, and all of its tricks and tortures, is not readily leaked to the public's eye. Sil doubts any of these people know what is being done to Peeta or Johanna or even Annie. They are utterly blind to the ruthlessness of their President.

A brief silence falls upon them, and is broken only when Opal claps her hands and stands up. "Oh Sil darling, let's go dance. This is one of my favorite songs!"

Sil pauses at the invitation, glancing over to the crowded dance floor. It is full of strange creatures dressed up in wild fashions; a sight she is quite familiar with. Her alter ego would not refuse such a request. However, she is not in the mood to lose herself to the harsh beat of the music. Wearing her masks tonight is much harder than it usually is. She doesn't know if it is because of the man by her side or the fateful twist of their conversation, but the thought of immersing herself more fully into the colorful world around her is a dreary one.

"…I'm dreadfully tired, my love," Sil responds, reaching to clasp her hand with Finnick's. She sends him a coy smile and says, "I think my husband and I shall say our goodbyes for now."

Opal deflates at the words, and pouts, "Marriage has made you dull, Silver. No offense, of course, Finnick." The addition is hastily murmured, and equally as hasty to be waved off by the man in question.

Finnick is a little bit amused at the thought of Sil being called dull by her Capitolite friends, and he smirks as Sil huffs.

"Dull? I should hope not! At the next party, I shall endeavor to dance all night with you, Opal darling!" she announces, sounding just shy of being cross. If Opal hears the slighted tone, she doesn't show it. Instead, she just beams happily at the promise as Sil drags Finnick up and trills several goodbyes to the other Capitolite creatures that seem to hang off of her every word.

Finnick can't get out of there fast enough. Their exit would have been a drawn out affair if he'd let Sil have her way. She is a magnet to these people, and the moment they see that her attention has shifted, they practically descend upon her at once. Finnick keeps his arm tightly bound around her waist and he pulls her out of the throng before they can be swept up in the sea of hugs and platitudes. He doesn't let go of her until they are safe on the pavement outside.

He almost expects Sil to get angry at him for the way he had practically dragged her out of the party, but instead she just silently waves down a cab. They don't talk much on the way back to her apartment. The space within the taxi is not sacred, and what they've got to talk about should be treated with discretion. But, knowing that Sil's apartment is also not safe to talk freely in, they both linger on the sidewalk once the cab drops them off, overdressed and exhausted.

"That was a bit of a failure," Finnick murmurs, shoving his hands into his pockets as he kicks at the curb. Sil hums dryly, crossing her arms to ward off the chill of night. Around them, the city breathes with life in a sleepless array of color.

She eyes him, studying the contours of his shape in pensive silence, until at last she responds, "Worry not, Finnick darling. The best laid plans take longer than one night to prepare."

He turns to look at her, forehead creased at the solemn quality that her voice takes on, and slowly asks, "Why do you do it? Pretend to be someone shallow and vain?"

The suddenness of the question seems to surprise her, for her eyes widen just so and she looks to be at a loss for words. Finnick angles his body to face hers fully, studying at the planes of her face as if he's searching for all the secrets of the world. They stand in the pool of light from the lobby of the apartment complex and just stare at each other.

And then Sil chuckles, and airily murmurs, "What a thing to say." And she turns to enter the building, as if she is quite finished with the conversation.

Finnick doesn't let her. He reaches out to capture her arm and pulls her back, surprisingly gentle despite the way he endeavors to keep her there, on the sidewalk, in the undertow of moonlight.

"I'm not blind, Silver," he says quietly, eyeing her expression in an almost contemplative manner. "You put on airs in public, but when you're alone with me…" He trails off. He doesn't know how to finish the sentence. He isn't sure if there is a word that would do her justice.

Sil glances down to where he is grasping her arm, and tilts her head at him. She reaches forward to touch his fingers as they clench around her coat sleeve. For a moment, she merely traces over them with her fingertips, as if his touch is a strange thing and she isn't sure how to react to it. But then she gently pries his grip from her and sends him a dry smile that doesn't reach her eyes. He knows, because he's been on the receiving end of enough of her genuine smiles to be able to tell the difference.

He knows her a lot better than she's given him credit for. How had that happened?

"What would become of a Victor without their masks?" she whispers, and Finnick feels himself jolt back a bit as if burned. She stares at him with such serious eyes that he feels as if it is difficult to breathe. Her words spiral through him, far too similar to the ones she had previous said at the party.

" _My love, what would become of the man without his secret?"_

He stares. What game is she playing? What masks does she wear? And – what sort of ammunition do her secrets hold?

Sil gives him a light smile and reaches up to caress his cheek. "Fear not, Finnick. I will help you in whatever way I can."

Then she turns and walks into the lobby, leaving him standing in the pool of light. Leaving him to grapple with the strange cadence of her promise. It's odd, really, how much comfort that promise brings him. He doesn't know why, or how, but in this moment it feels that out of everyone in Panem, Silver Lamprey Cornelius is the most qualified to offer him the help he so desperately needs.

He never thought he'd ever be in such a position, but then again, nothing about his relationship with that confusing woman aligns with his original intentions. Everything is different, now.

Everything.

* * *

The moment she's in the elevator, her PAAD is in her hands. By the time she gets off of it, an encrypted message has been composed and sent.

She has wasted enough time waiting for District 13, and even though she knows that going rogue is dangerous, she sees no other option. President Coin will thank her for it, eventually. She isn't the Sterling Nightingale in title only, after all.


	33. Whether you are mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Felix and Snow continue their search, and Sil and Finnick discover that their lives are about to get a lot more complicated.
> 
> Merry Christmas!
> 
> Hope you all enjoy this plot twist. It's a big one.

 

**Chapter Thirty Three | Whether you are mine**

" _She dared not make another confession to him. After all, he might not understand; he might not sympathize with her struggles and temptations. His love still dormant might sleep the sleep of death." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

At first, Snow is not pleased when Felix barges into his office and interrupts an important meeting with the Head of State. His displeasure vanishes, though, when Felix presents him with news that he has been waiting for, for far too long. The Sterling Nightingale has finally slipped up.

"We discovered it early this morning," Felix informs him once they are alone. He hands the PAAD over to the President, who leans back in his chair and reads the ciphered message calmly. The smile that spreads over his face has Felix puffing out his chest and standing taller.

"…And you're sure that this is from the Nightingale?" Snow questions him, glancing at him over the rim of the PAAD.

Felix pauses. "It's either from the Nightingale, or from one of his followers. Either way, we can use this to track at least one of them down."

Yes, and when one domino falls, the others are sure to fall with it. Snow hums and puts the PAAD down on his desk. His fingers drift over the screen as if he means to pluck the words from it.

"The Charity Gala…it's a large event. Many important people will be there," Snow muses, staring down at the message. His eyes flicker up to Felix's. "I'm sure the Nightingale is banking on the crowds. Don't make a mess of it."

The warning hardly holds weight. Snow is too pleased with this turn of events, and Felix is too confidant that this time will be different. This time, he will not let the thief slip through his fingers. Now when the spy has all but named the time and place for which he will show himself – down the last detail.

The Charity Gala is one of the largest events in the Capitol. Everyone who is anyone will be there. It will be the perfect moment to lay a trap for the spy, and they will not have to wait very long, either. The gala is only a few days away.

"I won't let you down this time, Mr. President," Felix says with no small amount of determination. He glances down at the PAAD, and the message that blazes across it, and smirks, "In fact, I think I'll get one of our confidantes to assist us. Odair has been of little help to us so far. I'm sure he'll be at the party as well. Perhaps he'll finally make himself useful."

Snow raises an eyebrow at the dark tone of Felix's voice, and murmurs, "I'll leave it to you. A little manipulation goes a long way. Don't overdo it, Felix."

Felix just chuckles. "It was you who said to keep the Victors on a firm leash," he reminds the President.

The corner of Snow's mouth edges upward. "Indeed," he replies musingly. "Just keep in mind how valuable Mr. Odair is to me. Don't let your…obsession with his new wife get in the way of your plans."

Mention of Silver makes Felix frown. The thought of her with that man makes him more disgusted than he cares to admit, and to think of them as an officially married couple makes him distinctly sick. He pushes the feeling to the side though. Now is not the time to dwell in it.

"Are you really going through with your plans, then?" Felix asks, against his better judgement. He knows better than to question his President, especially on matters concerning the Victors. He doesn't care for this one, though Snow has spent the last week orchestrating it.

Snow hardly bats an eye at him. With a wave of his hand, he says, "If they hadn't pushed the idea forward at the start of the Quell, I wouldn't be forced to follow through with it. Nevermind that, Felix. You have far more important things to concern yourself with." He pauses, and adds, "Bring me the Nightingale."

Felix doesn't hesitate as he nods and takes the PAAD back, glancing down at the encoded message with a smirk.

' _The library. One o'clock. Charity Gala.'_

"Yes, sir," he replies, and steps for the door.

Presenting the Sterling Nightingale to him will be his utmost pleasure.

* * *

For three weeks, Sil and Finnick get used to the idea of living together. It is disconcerting most days, and downright frightful on others. Being in close proximity to the man she has secretly fallen in love with does wonders to Sil's anxiety levels. The only good thing is that the guards who are constantly stationed near her apartment have grown lax in lieu of Sil's seemingly boring daily routines, making it easier for her to get in touch with Dorsey and Tommy. The bad thing is that, every time she schedules a meeting with either of them, she has to give Finnick a feasible excuse for her absence. She's running out of those.

" _I'm off to a lunch date with a friend, darling!"_

" _You wouldn't believe the sales they're having at Gigi's, my love!"_

" _I'm helping a friend of a friend's cousin arrange a little get together at The Plaza. It'll be a night to remember!"_

At this point, she'd almost prefer to just say:  _"Finnick, darling, I'm actually the Sterling Nightingale – you know, the spy they've been talking about for years now? – well I'm getting a little tired of you hanging off my every move when I'm trying to plan rebel movements right in front of the President. Could you maybe stop being so nosy all the time?"_

…She cannot say that. Unfortunately, it doesn't seem as though Finnick has any immediate plans to back off. Still, she can't be angry with him. He's oddly concerned whenever she disappears on him. It's as if he's worried he'll never see her again – that Snow will steal her away from him and end their feeble fake relationship once and for all.

These worries couldn't be further from the truth though, something that Sil discovers later that day as she's dressing for yet another of her parties. She's in the middle of rummaging through her closet for a pair of shoes when the doorbell goes off. It's odd so late in the evening, and Sil freezes just as she's reaching for her four inch powder blue stilettos. She sits back and glances at her bedroom door with a frown. When her door suddenly pushes open and Finnick pokes his head into her room, he's wearing a frown, too.

His eyes land on her, dives quickly over her form, and locks onto her face. "Were you expecting anyone to pick you up?" he asks, referring to the party she's attending tonight.

She slowly shakes her head and he frowns deeper.

"Stay here," he tells her, and closes the door again, as if he thinks that one locked door will save her from Snow's torment.

But it isn't Snow's torment waiting for them. At least, not in the conventional sense. It isn't Felix, either. When Finnick opens the front door, it's a Peacekeeper that waits on the other side. A Peacekeeper with a letter. In Finnick's experience, those two things don't usually make for a pleasant evening.

"From the President, Mr. Odair," the guard says monotonously. He hands the letter over with an equally bored gesture, and Finnick wonders if his expression matches the rest of him. It's impossible to tell with those helmets.

The Peacekeeper makes a quick exit the moment the envelope is handed over, and Finnick watches as he leaves the hall before shutting the door behind him. With a frown, he stares down at the paper. Growing anticipation seems to gut him. Whatever is in this letter is not going to be good.

"Sil!" Finnick calls, voice steady despite the hesitance that drags through him. He walks to her bedroom just in time to see her open the door, dressed in all her finery. Her shoes are hanging loosely from her fingers. The blue matches both her gown as well as the make-up she's carefully blended onto her eyelids. She looks perfectly Capitolian; not a hair out of place. Her eyes catch his briefly before darting down to the envelope with as much wariness as he's feeling.

"What is it?" she asks, stepping into the hallway. Under any normal circumstances (as if there are such things here in the Capitol), Finnick would suggest they sit down first. But as it is, they are both too suspicious as to the contents of the letter to bother with such comforts.

Finnick opens it without preamble and drags the paper out of its confines. Sil teeters closer, inches away now, to read over his shoulder.

_You are cordially invited to the official wedding ceremony of_

_Finnick Odair_

_and_

_Silver Lamprey Cornelius_

_to be held the morning of March 1_ _st_ _at 11:00 a.m._

_in the Hall of Justice._

The message is almost so nonsensical that they both just stare at the words silently, reading it again and again as if the news will somehow become coherent the longer they stare at the words. No matter how many times they reread it though, it doesn't.

Then, at once, Finnick says, "Wedding?" at the same time Sil breathlessly mutters, "Marriage?"

They turn to stare at each other, suddenly feeling as if they are looking at strangers…and then they break apart with a jolt. Finnick starts pacing. Sil just backs up into the wall and slides down it.

"This isn't real," Finnick mumbles to himself. He grips the letter so hard that it crumples in his grasp, it's once crisp parchment a far cry from the original smoothness it had only just possessed. Sil stares at him blankly, face pale. The ring on her left hand feel like it weighs a ton. So does the distance that suddenly lurches through the space between them.

Finnick crumples the letter into a ball and throws it angrily at the wall, as if he thinks that it will reverse the wedding invitation completely. But it doesn't, and it won't. There is no coming back from this. At least for now, Snow's orders are final.

Finnick's pacing halts for a moment and he breathes, "It's okay. It won't be real, so it's okay."

Sil just scrubs a hand over her face, not caring if she's ruining her perfect make-up. She looks at him and says, "It  _will_   _be_  real. There'll be a  _judge_. Finnick – "

"It's okay," he says again, looking completely lost and entirely unconvincing. "We can get a divorce. After this is all over – " then he stops abruptly and swallows down the rest of his words. Sil doesn't know about the rebellion, or so he thinks. He can't just start talking about the war that is almost at their doorstep, the one that will hopefully free them. He doesn't realize that Sil already knows about all that.

He doesn't know the full story, and Sil can't tell him all of it anyhow. Even if the rebellion goes off without a hitch and they can fix this sham of a marriage that Snow is suddenly forcing upon them, it won't erase the fact that for however long, she will lawfully be his wife. It's almost painful to realize how badly she'd like to step into such a role, but if it doesn't mean anything then there is little point. Finnick is clearly against the idea. More so than she has ever seen him. And she's not exactly fond of it either. She never thought she'd ever get married. Whatever childish dreams she used to have are long past.

"Why does he suddenly want us to have a ceremony?" Finnick mutters, dragging his hand through his hair. The action messes it up spectacularly, but he still manages to look impeccable. He starts pacing again with a heaving sigh and says, "The entirety of Panem already thinks we're married. Who cares if it's official or not?"

Sil has an answer to that, and it revolves around making them suffer as much as possible, even in the most seemingly simple ways. It is these methods of torture that Snow is so proficient at, and he isn't afraid to use them. Instead of that morbid thought, though, Sil just says, "Perhaps he means to use us to divert attention from the other Victors…"

She's probably right about that, too. Finnick doesn't seem to hear her though. He's deep in thought, considering the implications of this should it come to pass. He's never wanted to get married, not since becoming a Victor anyway. There was a time, back when his life was simple and happy, when his family was still alive and he was surrounded by the warmth of his mother and father – yes, there was a time when Finnick had willingly imagined such a life for himself. But he could never have imagined that it would happen in this way.

Marry Sil?  _Marry_  her? It is an inconceivable thought that he cannot wrap his head around. Forget the fact that they are already pretending to be married. It can hardly be compared to actually marrying her for  _real_. To have the papers, the documents, proving that they are actually, lawfully, husband and wife.  _Unimaginable_.

He can't – he can't do that to himself. To her. It is a lie that cannot become reality. A step too far. A boundary that should not be passed. It is  _wrong_.

Sil doesn't say anything more, but her own thoughts are spinning rapidly through her head. March 1st is only two weeks away. Is it possible to hurry the rescue plans and get Finnick out of the Capitol before then? She's not sure, but now that she has her PAAD back, it will be easier to send Dorsey a message about this. If it isn't possible, then perhaps she will just have to allow Snow to ruin the one day that every girl dreams about all through their lives. Perhaps she won't have a choice.

In the kitchen, the clock chimes six and Sil stands up. She's late; she should have left ten minutes ago. The dinner party Snow wants her to attend is probably in full swing by now, and any grand entrance on her part will be less noticeable than usual. She supposes that, at this point, it doesn't really matter anyway, but she doesn't want to push her luck.

She grasps her tasseled, Gigi's limited edition clutch and says, "I have to go, Finnick. Let's talk about this later, okay? I'm already late."

He sends her a cloudy glance that says he is not completely thinking straight, and waves her off, "Yeah…yeah, we'll talk later. I have a client tonight so I won't be home till late."

Sil swallows back the bile that comes entirely from the thought of him with those despicable women – women who she often knows personally – and gives him a tight lipped smile. She's so distracted that she doesn't even realize that Finnick has called her apartment 'home', as if he is already accustomed to the thought of living with her and their strange relationship.

Perhaps it is just as well. Even if she had noticed, it wouldn't have changed anything. There is no way that she will allow this to happen without a proper fight. She already has several back-up plans that she is already considering as she heads to the elevators. The moment the doors slide shut, Sil is whipping out her PAAD and sending a secured message to Tommy. She has a hell of a lot of planning to do tonight.

* * *

News of Finnick and Sil's 'official' wedding ceremony spreads like wildfire through a dry field. By the next morning, the Capitol is buzzing with excitement. Those who received an invitation are envied and favored; those who did not feel somehow shamed. It is a conundrum that Sil hardly even tries to understand at this point. Capitolites are a strange crowd, always coming to overly sensitive conclusions whenever they are not specifically sought after.

As it is, Sil doesn't know the extent of the guest list. The Hall of Justice is large enough to fit a decently sized group, and knowing the Capitol, the streets outside will undoubtably be full to bursting with all the other adoring fans who hadn't gained access to the ceremony itself.

Finnick and Sil have made headlines overnight.

Even without contacting Tommy the night before, he would have heard about this come morning. It is all people are talking about. Still, Sil is glad for her sleepless night. By the time she wanders into her kitchen to put on a pot of coffee, she feels more stable about this. In a matter of hours, Dorsey had been able to send several messages to District 13 about jumpstarting the rescue attempt, and Tommy had given her several ingenious ideas about how to reposition Finnick so that he is a part of said attempt.

None of the ideas succeed in getting out of this marriage, though.

" _The media will be following you around like dogs, waiting for a glimpse of you. You can't just disappear on your wedding day, Sil. They'll know," Tommy had said, his voice slightly disoriented as it poured through the speakers of Sil's PAAD._

 _Sil frowned and said, "I can't_ marry _him either, Tommy. There has to be another way."_

_The sigh he had given her upon hearing her response had been heavy. "Look, I get it, okay? If there was another way, believe me when I say I'd tell you. But this is the only foolproof plan I've got. Marry him, appease the Capitol, then you can vanish in plain sight. People won't expect to see you on your wedding night – it's the perfect time to make a quick escape."_

He's right, of course. The media will no doubt be filming the wedding ceremony. They'll want to interview the two Victors, ask some questions, make it into more of an ordeal than it should be. If they don't show up to their own wedding, the media will have a field day, and their speculations could do more harm than good later down the line. And yes, there is no doubt that Snow will immediately know about their failure to show up. He'll be looking for them, and he'll most likely find them before they even have the chance to reach the rendezvous point where District 13 will be, rescuing the other Victors who are still in the Capitol.

But – if they play by Snow's rules and suffer through the ceremony, if they get married, then the media will expect them to disappear anyway once evening comes around. That's what newlyweds do, after all. They retreat into their own world for their wedding night. No one will expect them to make any public appearances until morning. They won't be searching for them.

It is the best plan they've got, despite the bitter aftertaste it leaves in Sil's mouth.

She's so caught up in her thoughts that she doesn't even realize the coffee is done until a hand suddenly reaches into her vision and pulls the pot from its cradle. She glances over to see Finnick beside her, pouring hot coffee into one of her white porcelain mugs. He gives her a grimacing smile that she returns, apparently on the same wavelength as him.

"Morning," he mumbles, and goes to pour coffee into the mug that Sil has been holding between her hands for about ten minutes now. She watches blankly.

"Yeah," is all she says.

It seems like an adequate response, all things considered.

"You look terrible. Did you sleep at  _all_  last night?" he asks. It's probably just to fill up the silence, but he studies the shadows beneath Sil's eyes with concern that is more genuine than not.

Sil shrugs and looks up at him, noting the shadows beneath his eyes too. Raising her eyebrow, Sil pulls the sugar and creamer toward her and says, "Have you looked in the mirror today? You look even worse."

For some reason, the banter doesn't feel as fresh as it usually does. 'A' for effort though, right? No point being overly morose.

Finnick snorts, immediately intercepting the sugar the moment Sil is finished. He dumps two heaping spoonfuls into his mug with a flourish.

"Is that even possible?" he wonders, looking a bit more like himself. He smirks and adds, "Even on my bad days, I look like a supermodel."

Sil laughs at this and nods sympathetically at him, as if she doesn't truly believe his words to be correct. (Though even with bloodshot eyes and hair going in every direction and rumpled clothes, she thinks Finnick looks spectacular.)

"How was your party?" he asks, leaning against the counter.

Sil makes a face. "Fine."

It was a normal kind of party. Strobe lights, loud music, copious amounts of alcohol that Sil pretended to partake in. She'd spent most of the night surrounded by gaggles of Capitolites who knew her by name, trying to remember who was who and spending as much time on her PAAD as she possibly could in between. Tommy had been understanding towards her often late return messages. It was a normal party, save for the constant desperation that leeched out into her every thought. She has two weeks to hammer out a plan and make it happen. Concerning a rescue of this magnitude, two weeks is not a lot of time.

"Any plans for today?" Finnick asks over the rim of his mug. His voice is muffled as a result, but it still sounds as attractive as every other part of him.

…When had she become so consumed by his presence?

Trying not to think about how terribly attracted she is to him, Sil puffs out her cheeks and says, "Not until tonight."

He makes a sound in the back of his throat as he swallows a sip of coffee, then says in a clearer voice, "Let's go out for lunch. Just you, me, and the hordes of Capitolites hounding our every move. Sounds romantic, right?" He chuckles sarcastically.

Sil just raises an eyebrow, looking less than eager at the suggestion. While it sounds nice to go out to lunch with him –  _normal, beautiful_  – she doesn't exactly like the idea of doing so in the public eye. He's right about the hordes of Capitolites. They'll definitely be hounding their every move, especially with the news of their official wedding ceremony going viral.

"…Do we have to?" she asks slowly, making a face at him. Finnick raises an eyebrow at her.

"Don't sound so excited, Sil. I know you actually like the idea in spite of that tone."

She huffs. He's right. Again. She just isn't sure if it's really a good idea or not.

"Snow wants to see us this afternoon. Probably to go over the wedding plans," Finnick tells her after a brief pause. There is a strain in his voice that tells her just how difficult it is for him to use the word 'wedding'.

Sil sighs. "That's your strategy? Convince Panem that we're completely in love as we stuff our faces with food, then go sell our souls to the President?"

He stares at her for a long moment before saying, "…We've already sold our souls. Don't you think?"

To his surprise, she immediately refutes him with a staunch, "No. If anything, our  _lives_  have been stolen from us, Finnick. How much more does he want? What else is he going to make us do?"

She sets her mug down on the counter with a snap of her wrist and barely even sees the way Finnick is now watching her in shock – his eyes wide as he wonders at the almost rebellious tone that sparks through her words.

"Easy there, sugar," he says calmly, putting his own mug down and reaching for her shoulders. He grasps them solidly, anchoring her to the kitchen floor as he searches her eyes. When she blinks up at him, he murmurs, "It won't be so bad. Marrying you, I mean. We'll just lay down some ground rules and keep living the way we've been living over the last three weeks."

She bits the inside of her cheek and lets the pain dampen her despair. Ground rules? Love has no such thing. There are no boundaries when you fall for another person. She cannot even bear to think of living like this for the rest of her life, with him forever out of reach. So close, yet so very far from her. She must get him out of the Capitol or she'll go insane from the want.

She'd like to tell him all this and more. The words storm within her, only to be fall away when she looks into his eyes and sees the boundaries there between them – the very boundaries that she has helped to construct, now spiraling out of her control. They don't need to set down ground rules; they already exist.

"Okay," she says, instead of speaking her mind. She wonders if she's ever spoken her mind to him before. She probably has, but not about the things that matter most. And with every second, her chances at doing so dwindle down.

"I'll go get dressed," she murmurs, and extricates herself from his hold before he can say another word. Finnick just watches her go with a blank expression, hiding all his inner turmoil like the many masks already set in place between them.

Still – it's not so bad, when they finally arrive at a small diner near the President's mansion. It's impossible to avoid the crowds even at this time of the day, but they are important enough to be able to sit in a separate, empty corner where they are relatively alone.

It's almost (dare she say it) romantic.

Finnick helps her out of her jacket and even pushes her chair in for her; the perfect gentleman. She knows it's only because they're in public.

He banters back and forth with her over the menu, flirting even as he sips at his water and churlishly pushes sugar cubes her way with a wink. It's only because he has an image to uphold.

He hooks his leg around her shin beneath the table in plain sight of everyone else, fingers playing with hers when their food arrives. He doesn't even let go of her when the waitress returns to give them their check and gives Sil's pearl ring a long stare as she does.

Of course, that's what Finnick wants, why he's keeping her hand on the tabletop, spinning their fingers together. He wants to prove to Panem that they are in love. It's all an intricate act, and even the moments in the arena, where it had seemed so real and so breathtakingly genuine fall away now, leaving a bitter aftertaste in Sil's mouth.

She lets him act. Lets him help her back into her jacket, hook an arm around her waist, and lead her out of the restaurant. She even lets him press a kiss to her hair on the sidewalk as they wait for a taxi – much to the giggling masses of Capitolites, who stop and watch them like they're in a theater watching a romantic film, or the bloodthirsty Hunger Games. Really, it's all the same to them.

"Come on," Finnick says when a cab pulls up for them. He opens the door for her and she slides into the leather seat with him not far behind. And then they are off to the President's mansion. Sil would rather go anywhere than there, especially with Finnick at her side. Finnick, who sees more of her than she has allowed anyone to see in seven years, and yet – sees nothing.

"Ah, there they are," President Snow says when they are led into his office. He stands up and gestures to the expensive leather couch sitting by the window. Sil releases her hand from Finnick's and grins her too-wide smile. At once she turns into the same bumbling, silly girl that Finnick has always disliked.

"Mr. President! I'm so very glad to see you again – on better terms," she adds with a simper that doesn't quite reach her eyes. No matter. Snow doesn't seem to see, and neither does Finnick, who is staring at her with a strange look on his face, as if he's wondering where the curiously sly, peculiarly intelligent woman he had just gone out to lunch with has disappeared to.

"Quite," Snow responds, sitting down across from the couch as he clears his throat. "The last few weeks have been difficult on our relationship, hasn't it? But I'm sure you understand why we've had to resort to some of those methods. Rebellions are extremely dangerous, Miss Cornelius." He pauses, glances at Finnick, and muses, "Or should I say Mrs. Odair? That is why we're meeting, after all."

Sil lets out a peel of laughter that nearly makes Finnick cringe. He hasn't heard that sound in a while. Actually, Sil has been much more subdued lately, at least compared to how he remembers her being before.

Before. So much has happened between then and now.

"I understand perfectly, President Snow. I want you to catch those rebels just like every other Capitolite. Dreadful business, really. And to think – I actually enjoyed Katniss Everdeen's company! I can hardly bring myself to think on it." She waves a hand in front of her face as if she's trying to wave away memories that she no longer wishes to have.

Finnick just clenches his jaw and remains silent. He'd suddenly like to move away from her, but he doesn't want to draw attention to himself. How can she say those things? Is it just an act for their President, or are they words that she actually means? As a Victor, she can't really believe that Snow's methods are justified. She can't actually want his ironfisted reign to continue. He doesn't miss the way she refers to herself as a Capitolite, either. Is it a twist of words that she tosses out there for the President's benefit, or is that actually how she sees herself? Right now, she's certainly acting like every other foppish Capitol woman Finnick's ever met, and he's met a lot of them.

"As for my new surname," Sil continues, hardly taking a breath in between words, "I suppose I'll just have to get used to being called Mrs. Odair." She rattles on a bit about how strange it is to hear it. Finnick thinks it's strange too. Strange and, at this moment, just a tad obnoxious.

Snow chuckles and nods amicably at Sil before turning his attention to Finnick. Apparently he won't be able to remain silent during the entirety of this meeting.

"Silver seems…accepting of the official marriage. I hope you don't have any issues with my plans," the President says, but Finnick knows what he means.

_You'd better not do anything to disrupt all my careful planning._

Finnick shifts into a more comfortable position beside Sil and responds, "You've already figured everything out. At this point, it would be stupid of me to try to change anything."

Snow raises an eyebrow but doesn't disagree. Instead he merely hums, "Yes, it would be. I'm glad to see you've come to terms with it." With a sigh, Snow says, "Two weeks should be enough time to make adjustments to the ceremony, if you wish. I've already arranged for a gown to be brought to you, Silver. You'll have a full retinue of stylists to help you prepare for the big day, and the guest list has already been sent out, as I'm sure you know. Besides convincing Panem that you're in love with Mr. Odair here, you have little work to do on your end."

 _I'll take care of it,_  Snow is really saying –  _Just go along with the plans and don't complicate things._

Sil feels the strain of the silent order beat through her just as solidly as Snow's eyes as they stare her down. She just nods, feeling all fluttery. Her throat is tight and she doesn't think she can speak anyway.

Somehow, she manages to giggle, "But Mr. President, I already  _am_  in love with Finnick. It shan't be a problem convincing people of something I already feel."

It's almost amusing, the way her words are the most honest ones she's said in a long time. And to the President of Panem, too.

But they  _are_  true. She  _is_  in love with Finnick. She's not sure when it all happened, not sure why or how she had allowed herself to have such a potent distraction, but she has never spoken such sincere words these past seven years – no, in all her life.

President Snow just smiles at her as if he thinks she's lying. Finnick shifts awkwardly beside her as if he, too, assumes she's only spinning the web of their false relationship ever higher.

"Of course, Silver," Snow says agreeably, though his eyes flash twin daggers at her from beneath the amicable concession. He does not believe her. Why should he? He was the one who had forced them into this relationship to begin with, brought them to the limelight by spreading rumors of their secret dalliance. Why would he think that she actually loves Finnick? She, who is too ditzy to ever truly love someone fully. The dumb blonde Victor who cannot even hope to understand the true meaning of love. Yes, it is amusing, in a twisted bitter way that makes Sil want to prove herself. To the Capitol, to the rebellion, to Finnick himself, who deserves the truth. He deserves someone who isn't shrouded in deceit and lies. And yet…

She is in too deep. She cannot tell him now. She can only sit there and simper at the President as she spins truths that look like lies and lets them all believe that they are as fabricated as every other aspect of the city they cannot hope to untangle themselves from.

It seems as if this meeting will be a short one, because Snow begins to make idle talk that holds no real importance, so Sil jumps at the chance to cement part of the plan she's been coming up with over the last several days.

"Finnick and I have been talking," she begins, only for Finnick to cast a confused glance her way as he wonders where she's going with this. She ignores the confused glance and says, "For the honeymoon, I was thinking of renting out a room at The Pantheon. It's removed from everything and would make a splendid place to stow away for a few days."

President Snow's expression remains unchanged as he considers her words. Finnick, however, has to force his face into stoicism. For some reason – whether it's because of the whirlwind of events or just his own disillusionment – he hadn't even thought about the honeymoon. Of course it won't really be a honeymoon in the traditional sense, but the Capitol doesn't know that. For all they know, Finnick and Sil are in love and will want a cozy place to bunker down for a few days after their 'romantic' wedding.

He tries not to think about what it would be like if it was all real. Those kinds of thoughts are dangerous, especially when his feelings for the ditzy blonde Victor beside him are so confusing.

Does he love her? A month ago, he might have actually said yes. He might have been willing to overlook the less stellar parts of her personality in favor of the subtle edge of intelligence he knows she must possess, to some degree. But now…

He isn't sure if the word 'love' should have anything to do with it.

"That sounds feasible," Snow says after a moment, as if he is speaking about some new business proposition rather than a romantic getaway. Though really, that's all this is. There is no room for anything else to come between them now. There  _shouldn't_  be.

Finnick wonders why it sounds like he's trying to convince himself of that.

"I can only allow three days," Snow goes on to say. "I have need of both your unique talents now more than ever. The Capitol will expect a short honeymoon during such difficult times."

Sil nods as if this is perfectly normal to her, though Finnick thinks it's cutting it very short. In District 4, honeymoons last anywhere between three weeks to a month, and are speckled with feasts and celebrations that the whole town often takes a part in. Weddings are drawn out affairs filled with family and dancing. They tend to last way more than three days. Even the poorer families generally follow traditions because the entire district joins in to help them celebrate. Of course, this is the Capitol, and nothing lasts very long here.

"Gracious, three days is more than I would have expected," Sil says, defying Finnick's musing in one fell blow. She grins happily, "You're too kind, Mr. President."

Kind? It takes everything in Finnick's power not to roll his eyes. Has the last three weeks meant nothing to her? Does she really not blame the President for torturing them both and forcing them even further into their roles than normal? Is she really so naïve?

But three days  _is_  actually better than Sil had hoped for. Regardless, they'll only need the one night in order to implement the escape plans.

Snow smiles dryly, as if he finds her compliment rather bland as well. "I'll have Felix escort you to your car. I believe our meeting is finished."

Sil's smile flickers away. She has to force it back onto her face – not that it matters much. Snow is well aware that she doesn't like Felix very much. He's well aware as to why that is, too.

Together, Finnick and Sil stand up and make their exit. Felix is waiting just outside, standing out one of the floor length windows that overlooks the courtyard. When he hears the door open, he turns and gives Sil a gleaming smirk that makes her feel grimy. But with Finnick at her side, she knows that Felix won't do anything to her. Finnick might not know what to think of her lately, but he's a good man – a thousand times better than Felix. He wouldn't stand for Felix's abhorrent behavior. He's proven that before.

"Silver. Congratulations on your official wedding. Save me a dance?" he walks toward the pair with a chuckle that sounds darker than usual, and Sil staunchly laughs as if the very notion is unbelievable.

She opens her mouth to tell him off, but to her surprise, Finnick beats her to it.

He circles his arm around her waist and pulls her into his side with a calm smile. "I'm afraid I'll be stealing her away for most of the dances. And besides, we'll be leaving early. The Justice building isn't exactly the best place to hold a reception."

Felix raises an eyebrow and drawls, "Of course. I'm sure you'll want to start the honeymoon as soon as possible. Silver is a  _decent_  lay, I suppose. She'll keep you occupied, in any case."

Sil feels the color drain from her face at Felix's cruel words, but he doesn't stop there.

He laughs and adds, "To be honest, I like women who have a little more to hold onto." His eyes flicker down to Sil's modest chest and he tilts his head as he stares at her. "I suppose she makes up for it though. She does know how to put her mouth to good use."

He sends Sil a smirk as if he's complimenting her rather than humiliating her in front of her faux husband. Her skin feels like it's crawling off her bones just being in the same vicinity as Felix, and his words aren't making it any better.

Finnick's hand tightens around her waist – his only outward reaction to Felix. After a brief moment spent wrangling down his anger, Finnick slowly responds, "I think we can find our own way downstairs. No need to waste your time escorting us."

He says nothing more about the humiliating turn of the conversation, and Felix just shrugs. He lets them pass without a struggle, though Sil feels his eyes on her the entire way. She forces herself to walk naturally at Finnick's side despite the desire to sprint away from Felix. How anyone can be so revolting, Sil doesn't know, but Felix always seems to surpass her expectations of him – and never in a good way.

Finnick remains perfectly silent the entire way downstairs, as if the conversation hadn't actually happened. It is only when they return to the taxi cab that had agreed to wait for them on the curb that he takes her hand and grasps it tightly in his. He sends her a sideways glance and says quietly, "Don't worry about him. I'll keep you safe from now on."

He opens the door for her and waits for her to get into the cab, but Sil can only blink up at him silently as they idle together on the slate gray sidewalk.

"You can't be with me every hour of the day," Sil murmurs to him, dropping her too-wide smile in favor of a more serious expression. He doesn't appear to react to the alteration of her personality. Maybe he's just gotten used to her strange demeanor, or maybe he understands that this conversation requires a more solemn approach.

"No," he replies, raising a hand to her head. He strokes his fingers over her white-blond hair. "But I can promise that as long as we  _are_  together, I won't allow that bastard to get anywhere near you. I'm going to be your husband soon.  _Your real_  husband. If I can't protect you then I don't deserve to have you."

Her husband. The first real thing between them – and it is something that is as binding as a marriage that she's not sure either of them want. It is a scary thought, bonding yourself to someone else. Giving that person your safety, allowing them to enter your life and do with it what they will. He could destroy her so easily – and yet, do just the opposite with equal simplicity. And that is why it  _is_  scary, but also beautiful too.

"I wish I could say the same," she whispers to him, reaching up to catch his hand in hers. Her eyes are large, emotional, honest, when she says, "If I could keep  _you_  safe…save you from those women…Finnick – "

"We can't change our lot in life," he tells her, squeezing her fingers gently. He gives her an equally gentle smile. "Let's just focus on getting through the next few days, okay?"

She nods in agreement, but inside Sil is thinking of just how she will change his path. She can save him. Even if it means being forced to remain in the Capitol and take on all the punishments meant for him…

She would do it. She will.

Because somewhere between the shades of duties and truths, her life has merged with his, entwining down a path entirely different and completely new. She is not sure where it leads, but Sil knows that they are now in this together. It is no longer possible to untangle her life from his. Sil can only hope the end of this path will not bring disaster and destruction.


	34. Or simply breathing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Finnick and Sil attend the annual Charity Gala, and the identity of the Sterling Nightingale once more comes into question.
> 
> Just got back from Florida a few hours ago! You guys wouldn't imagine how much inspiration I've had for this story just by being down there. I live in a northern coastal town, so I based District 4 off of what I'm familiar with rather than the typical southern fishing village that most people identify District 4 with, but I have so many ideas for a potential future and I'll definitely be playing around with that for the latter part of the story...
> 
> Hope you all had a great New Years! Please enjoy this chapter, I think you'll all appreciate the end of it! And if the red dress quote sounds familiar, well...I couldn't resist adding it in ;)

 

**Chapter Thirty Four | Or simply breathing**

" _It all looked so peaceful, so luxurious, and so still, that the keenest observer – a veritable prophet – could never have guessed that, at this present moment, that deserted supper-room was nothing but a trap laid for the capture of the most cunning and audacious plotter those stirring times had ever seen." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

The day of the Charity Gala comes quickly, and with it, several plans that are layered one on top of the other, stacked so high that Sil wonders how she'll manage to orchestrate them all. As for Finnick, he just wonders how he'll get through the night.

"Another party?" Finnick bemoans, watching as Sil riffles through her closet, plucking gown after gown off the rack. Apparently, none of them live up to her standards, for she  _tsks_  at each option and adds them to the growing mountain of dresses that currently occupies her bed.

"This is for you," Sil tells him, studying a lavender confection with a discerning eye. It's puffy, with huge skirts, and probably cost a fortune just in terms of the fabric yardage alone. Sil purses her mouth at it and throws it over to the mattress to join the rest. As she turns back to her closet, she trills, "You said you wanted to find the identity of the Nightingale, didn't you?"

She plucks out a very colorful, sequined mini dress and Finnick crosses his arms. She barely holds it for more than a second before adding it to the mountain. It isn't nearly as flamboyant or dressy for a gala of this caliber.

"Yeah, well, I didn't say I wanted to go to another party to do it," Finnick mutters, and adds in a louder voice, "Isn't there another way? I feel like arm candy whenever I go out with you."

The phrase makes Sil laugh. She turns to wink at him and drawls, "Gracious, darling, but I do believe you may be the finest arm candy I've ever had."

Finnick rolls his eyes, but can't stop the amused smile from spreading over his face at her declaration.

"I'm afraid this is our only option, unless you've got a better idea," she says after throwing two more dresses on the bed. To be perfectly honest, Finnick is a little concerned about how many gowns she owns. She's been at it for ages now, and the mountain of lace and chiffon on the mattress looks about ready to topple over.

He eyes it warily and murmurs, "I've already exhausted my other options…" Sil only pauses for a moment, but the brief glance she sends him tells Finnick that she's quite aware as to what those other options are. Hotel rooms and clients; payment in the form of secrets. He sighs and grumbles, "I don't even know why Snow thinks I'm the most qualified person for this job. The Nightingale could be anyone."

Sil hums, holds up a sunshine yellow gown, and breezily responds, "Indeed. For all you know, you've already met the man." Then, turning to face him with a dramatic gasp, Sil adds, "Perhaps you've even  _spoken_  to him, without even knowing!"

Oh, she shouldn't jest. When Finnick does discover the identity of the Sterling Nightingale – and he will, she has little doubt of that – he might be cross with her for dredging up this small bit of humor in his time of need. She can't help herself though. Anything that might make this dreary situation a little lighter is a blessing.

Finnick snorts at her and steps forward, quite finished with watching the debacle of her never-ending closet. As he pushes her out of the way to inspect the contents of it himself, he wonders, "Do you think he knows I'm looking for him?"

Sil stands off to the side and tilts her head, leaning against the closet door and watching as he riffles through the hangers within. Surely, she shouldn't be overly callous with the tides of this discussion, but…well, Finnick has a mischievous side. Perhaps he'll find it amusing later on, if they ever find themselves on solid ground.

She hides a smile and shrugs, "Oh, I'm quite sure he does. He is a spy, after all. He probably knows you very well by now."

Finnick glances over at her with a raised eyebrow. "That's a little…creepy," he tells her, and takes a crimson red dress from the rack. It's silky and a bit risqué, with an extra air of luxury. He holds it in front of her form and nods. "I've always wanted to go out to a swanky party with a girl in a red dress."

Sil eyes the gown with a hum and gives him a wry smile. "You have wonderful taste, my love."

Finnick just chuckles.

"No," he denies, glancing over at the teetering pile of clothes that is strewn about her bedroom. "…You've just been to Gigi's one too many times."

The words make Sil look vaguely offended, and Finnick's chuckle turns into a laugh.

* * *

The party is in full swing when they arrive. Finnick looks utterly handsome in his tailored black suit. He practically oozes sex appeal tonight. He decided to forgo a tie, and the first few buttons of his crisp white dress shirt are undone. Together, the two of them make quite the pair, especially with the crimson gown that Sil is wearing.

"You look gorgeous," he murmurs to her as they walk into the ballroom. It's the third time he's told her. His compliments have gone to her head a little bit, admittedly.

She smiles prettily up at him as they linger together by the doors, and reaches up to fiddle with the undone buttons of his shirt. "Mmm…as do you, my love."

Finnick gives her a coy smirk and holds out his arm for her. "Shall we?"

She is quick to accept the offered limb. As she hooks her gloved fingers into the crook of his elbow, she chimes, "Let's."

They head into the throng of Capitolites, yet again.

Finnick is honestly a tiny bit thankful to be here tonight, but only because it means that he doesn't have to spend his time between the sheets of a foreign bed, shucked against a stranger whose touch makes him want to cringe. His schedule is relentless, these days. Since the Quarter Quell, it isn't so rare to have more than one client in a single night. The exhaustion is catching up to him – he hasn't had a proper sleep in weeks, and it shows in the shadows beneath his eyes. Shadows that Sil had expertly covered up with make-up. It wouldn't do, after all, to arrive in this den of sharks looking anything less than powerful and important.

"Who should we start with?" he asks her, referring to their undercover motives. The party they had attended before hadn't given them any clues as to who the Sterling Nightingale is, but Finnick has high hopes that tonight will be different. This gala is, after all, of a higher caliber than the last. There are many more people here tonight, and all of them have their secrets.

They idle for a moment, surveying the crowd. Sil notices several high-ranking Peacekeepers in the corner, and a group of CEOs and businessmen over by the bar. There are a few famous stylists and designers near the balcony doors, and some Gamemakers are standing beside the ballroom floor. It looks to be an event full of the important faces of the Capitol, from scientists to artists and everything in between. It's hardly surprising. This is a charity event, after all.

Before Sil can respond, they are interrupted.

"Finnick! How lovely it is to see you here tonight," a woman crows, throwing herself at the pair. She gives Sil a fake smile and proceeds to ignore her in favor of draping herself over Finnick's other arm.

Finnick looks distinctly uncomfortable, but he hides it ever so well. Sil doubts she would have even noticed if she hadn't spent so much time around him, but the way his shoulders tense up and his charming smile becomes slightly more brittle tells her everything she needs to know. This is a client.

"Ah…you look spectacular," Finnick tells the woman, trying to remember her name. She is familiar to him. He glances at her vibrant pink hair and clearly recalls the way it had haloed out over the pillow of her bed. She's engaged to some high rolling Capitolite – the huge diamond ring on her finger is proof enough of that. He remembers the way she had taken it off before pushing him onto her mattress and rolling on top of him. He tries not to remember anything else, but it isn't easy to shut out the images that are so quick to pepper his thoughts. His defenses against the whims of his clients are flimsy, at best.

But her name…what is it? Sil, as usual, has the answer. He isn't sure if he's grateful or upset at this, and of the meaning behind her knowledge.

"Arietta, what a sight you make!" Sil chimes in, tightening her grasp on Finnick's forearm minutely. She laughs stupidly and gestures to the hot pink gown the woman is wearing. "My, but you look like a flamingo tonight! Wherever did you get the idea to color your hair such a vibrant shade? It's so distinctive – why, I doubt we'll lose  _you_  in the crowd, my love."

The words are said with an inane grin, but Finnick can hear the slight edge of her tone. Arietta can, too. She simpers at Sil and laughs, "I suppose I should say the same, Sil. You look like sex itself tonight. How ravishing that dress is. Be careful – someone might distract you from Finnick!"

The implications of her words has Sil chuckling. She throws Finnick a sidelong look and raises an eyebrow at him. Then, leaning forward, she presses her arm around his waist and wonders, "Am I truly such a distraction, Finnick my love?"

Finnick clears his throat. In that dress, he's of half the mind to agree. He pulls his arm out of Arietta's grasp to smoothly run a hand through his hair.

"You always are, Sil," he tells her, and finds that the words are quite sincere. Even now, with her pressed to his side as he faces a client that had used his body for her own pleasure with little regard for his, he feels far safer than he thinks he has any right to. He doesn't know how this silly blonde woman can distract him from the horrors of his life. He doesn't understand it.

Love – it is a wild thing. It confuses him and completes him all at once.

Sil gives Arietta one final smile before pulling Finnick with her across the room. "We should really get caught up later, Arietta darling," she calls as they make their escape. "I heard about your recent financial problems, and I would love to give you some advice!"

It's a low blow, but it's delivered with such happy poise that Finnick snorts with amusement by her side. Neither of them pauses to glance behind at Arietta's reaction. The woman is hardly worth it.

"Financial problems?" he questions Sil as they weave through the crowd. He decides not to mention the advice Sil claims she can give the woman. His mind flickers to the accounting ledger that he had discovered in Sil's apartment several weeks ago, and wonders if perhaps said advice would be worthwhile after all.

Sil snickers at him and purses her crimson lips to hide her grin. But – it still shows in the highlights of her eyes, and for the briefest of moments, he is lost to the mischievous sheen of them.

"Why do you think she's engaged to a man twice her age, darling?" Sil asks demurely as she reaches for a glass of neon blue liquor that a butler is carrying on a platter. She hands Finnick one as well, though he wrinkles his nose at it. She chuckles and takes a sip. "It surely isn't because he's a charming fellow. The man is a ruthless politician, but his pockets are lined quite generously."

Finnick raises an eyebrow at this information. "And how do you know that?"

Sil just huffs, "I know  _everything_  that happens in this city, Finnick."

He doesn't seem to notice the amused edge of her tone. With a roll of his eyes, he mutters, "You read too many tabloid magazines, sugar."

Sil trills out a laugh and doesn't respond. Sometimes, words are unnecessary.

* * *

The Charity Gala is an annual event, and it attracts hundreds of Capitolites each year. The wealthiest citizens always attend, ready to donate their money to causes that might place them in the spotlight or make them seem like humanitarians. The donations are all a front, of course, in order for those wealthy citizens to gain a little more status. Finnick isn't blind to it. At this point, he knows the underhanded effects of this city almost too well.

There are several events that are to take place tonight. Besides the various silent auctions being held in the other estate rooms, there is to be several other charity events that have become a traditional aspect of this gala. There are to be raffles, gift drives, poker and card game tournaments, as well as bachelor and bachelorette auctions. The upper floors of the building are filled with rooms that boast different events to help raise money for their respective causes. Finnick has been to a few of these galas over the years, but he's never been to one with Sil. It's a very strange experience.

She seems to have taken interest in uncovering their mystery with an almost singular effect. The Sterling Nightingale, elusive man that he is, has managed to outsmart the Capitol for years now. Finnick isn't sure if Sil will really be able to help him find out who the spy is, but he's actually starting to believe that she might be able to get further than he has.

She drags him from one event to another, collecting her 'friends' as she goes and subtly interrogating them before dropping them for the next. She's already been through nearly all of the rooms, and has sat as played her card games a few times already. Finnick is a tiny bit impressed that she seems to know her way around poker. The way she gambles with powerful men over half her age as easily as breathing is a fascinating sight. And – maybe it's just the red gown that shows off her figure so finely, but he thinks it's just a tiny bit sexy, too.

She was clearly bred for this. High society is something she navigates so effortlessly. Even when she's baiting someone, or insulting another, her words are so elegant and charming, and the smile she beams at unsuspecting Capitolites erases any tension that might have otherwise existed.

He's in the process of getting them more drinks, weaving his way through the crowd with two glasses of champagne in his hands. There's to be a toast soon, or some such thing. Sil had all but made him into her errand boy, claiming to be too swept up in a conversation with a corporate businesswoman to do it herself. Finnick hadn't really minded. He might have, but seeing how Sil's been quietly interrogating everyone all night, looking for clues about the Nightingale, he didn't bother complaining. She's doing it for him, after all.

Why, though? Does he actually mean that much to her, that she would help him with such an important task? The question has been bothering him all night, every time he watches her inquire into the latest news regarding the rebel's most famous spy. Their relationship has always confused him, baffled him in ways that he cannot quite explain with words alone, but he knows that Sil is a good person below the surface of her shallow vanity. And he knows, or at least he thinks he does, that said vanity is a mask that she feels she must wear, for reasons that do not seem forthcoming.

He'll let her have her secrets, for now. As long as Annie and the other Victors are safe – and, perhaps even them as well, if the Nightgale agrees to get them out of the Capitol too – well, he won't question Sil's methods. If they can get him out of the sticky situation he's in regarding President Snow and the Sterling Nightingale, then she can have as many secrets as she wants.

It's funny, how those words will come back to haunt him later on. How he'll think back upon these moments in the Capitol and wonder at how he has missed so many details. How he is so close to Sil in so many ways, and yet so far.

He's heading towards the doors that lead into the eastern drawing room when his thoughts are forcefully put on hold. He just barely sees the outline of Sil through the open doors, standing across the room in her brilliant red dress. He finds himself admiring the way it curves around her body, fit to perfection. The way it contrasts so elegantly with her sun-kissed skin and her shocking blonde hair, highlighted by the desert sun. She is a star in a room of darkness, lit up with a beauty that takes him by surprise every time he looks upon her.

And it must show. Something must appear on his face, giving hint to the thoughts that serenade him, for at that moment, an amused voice drawls, "She is the picture of loveliness tonight."

With a start, Finnick pauses and glances to the side. The surprise that momentarily shudders over his face is quickly blanketed. Felix smirks.

"You're lucky to have such a fine creature on your arm…and in your bed," Felix says, pushing off from the wall he's leaning against and coming to stand beside Finnick. His smirk only widens at the way Finnick's eyes flash at him; a barely hidden warning lurching through his gaze.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?" Finnick asks, though the polite turn of phrase is rather skewed by the impatient frustration of his tone.

Felix chuckles, "There's no need for such forced platitudes, Odair. I'm here to enlist your assistance. You seem to be utterly failing at the job we've given you, and I intend on changing that tonight."

Mention of the 'job' makes Finnick stiffen. He purses his lips and glances briefly over at Sil before turning to face Felix more completely. Felix puts his hands into his pockets, and turns for the door, nodding at it. The silent order is obeyed, though not without an aggravated grumble.

"I'm trying to do what President Snow wants," he tells Felix as they enter the ballroom, which is utterly crowded with people, and is noisy enough to hide their conversation from prying ears. "The Nightingale has evaded the President for years. It isn't that easy figuring out who he is."

Felix holds up a hand and chuckles, "Now now, Finnick. I'm not here to chastise you. I'm here to tell you that the Sterling Nightingale is, in fact, at this very party, and that you're going to help me capture him."

At this, Finnick's eyebrows shoot up.

"He's here, tonight?" he repeats with a confused frown, and glances around the room as if he expects to see the rogue walking around in plain sight.

Felix hums, eyeing Finnick with a discerning look, and murmurs, "Our intelligence community picked up an encrypted message a few days ago that we believe was sent by the Nightingale to one of his agents. He'll be meeting with someone in the library at one o'clock tonight."

The information makes Finnick's eyes widen. The Sterling Nightingale – here? What would drive the spy to a party of this caliber? What reason would he have to come here, and why risk himself? Perhaps more importantly, who is he meeting?

"How exactly am I supposed to help you?" Finnick asks, frowning at Felix. His head is jumbled with thoughts that seem to have no beginning and no end.

Felix raises an eyebrow at him and drawls, "You're a Victor, aren't you? The Nightingale will trust you. All you have to do is keep him there until we can apprehend him."

Finnick makes a sound in the back of his throat and mutters, "So I'm the bait, then."

Felix chuckles darkly. He eyes Finnick and says, "If something goes wrong, I want to at least have an identity to go along with the man. I want to know who he is. You should be able to do that much, at least."

Finnick purses his mouth but doesn't respond. He only nods – a tight, strained movement. It seems good enough to appease Felix, for he sends Finnick one last fake smile and says, "Until later, then. Try not to mess up, Odair. I doubt I need to remind you that a pretty redhead's life is on the line." He smirks sinisterly and callously adds, "She screams so  _deliciously_ …"

Finnick tenses, glaring at Felix with a furious glint in his eye, and hisses, "If you touch her – "

"I prefer blondes," Felix cuts in, glancing over Finnick's shoulder. His attention seems to be drawn away, his expression captivated by a possessive air as he murmurs, "She  _is_  a fine creature, Finnick. I hope you won't mind when I steal her away every once in a while…just because you're getting married doesn't mean she can't have some fun on the side." His eyes dart back to Finnick's, and the harrowed look that dwells in the Victor's eyes makes him smile ruthlessly.

He gives Finnick one last nod before turning and walking away, just in time. Barely a second later, Sil appears at Finnick's side, warily watching Felix's retreat.

"…What did he want?" she asks, turning her gaze to Finnick's. He's looking down at her with haunted eyes, his gaze flickering over her face almost desperately. Sil frowns with confusion and takes the champagne glass from Finnick's hand. She tilts her head and cautiously wonders, "Finnick?"

The sound of his name seems to drag him back to reality. His jaw snaps shut with an audible snap, nostrils flaring. He suddenly looks angry. Her confusion doubles.

With a sharp exhale, Finnick hooks his arm around her and leads her out of the ballroom, muttering, "You know what he wanted. He threatened me." He casts her a glance out of the corner of his eye that makes her frown.

"We'll figure it out, Finnick," she murmurs to him, clenching her fingers around the stem of the glass. "He won't be able to blackmail you for much longer – "

"He's obsessed with you," he cuts in adamantly, surprising her yet again at the sudden topic change. He turns to her, and she's shocked to find that he looks like he's on the verge of despair as he whispers, "I don't know if I'll be able to save you from him, Sil. I'm powerless against the Capitol."

When it all boils down to it, he can't very well stop Felix from getting what he wants. Not unless he's okay with the repurcussions of his actions, which will doubtlessly be some form of torture for denying the Capitol what it desires.

Sil blinks up at him. She is a mixture of debonair sex appeal and innocence, and Finnick can't figure out which side of her is more appealing. He wonders, darkly, which side of her  _Felix_  finds more appealing.

She doesn't entirely know what to say. To be on the receiving end of Finnick's protection is not something she is accustomed to, not like this. And besides that, he doesn't truly know who he is speaking to. He doesn't realize that she's essentially been leading him around in circles all night, while she's been 'uncovering' rumors and gossip about the Sterling Nightingale. About herself.

What will he say, later on, when he realizes just how complicated this mess really is? When he finds out that the spy he has been searching for is actually her? Will he forgive her for this subterfuge? For pretending to help in his hunt, while sabatoging it at the same time?

And – Felix. Now that is yet another problem, another variable in the equation that has become so complicated as of late. She needs to know what else they had been talking about, besides her.

"You'll be my husband soon enough," she whispers, taking note of the way his jaw clenches even more at the word. Pretending not to notice the tension of his body, she finishes, "We'll protect each other."

The words don't seem to calm him, so she hurries to ask, "What else did he say? He seemed to want something from you. Is it about…the Nightingale?"

She watches him carefully. His eyes flash. He looks away from her, and into the crowd of Capitolites. His countenance seems suddenly closed off. He is keeping something from her.

"…It's not important. What time is it, anyway?" he asks, wishing he had worn one of his watches.

Luckily, Sil carries that damnable PAAD with her wherever she goes. She reaches into her clutch and glances at it, turning her stormy, suspicious eyes downward lest he catch sight of them. Her voice is purposefully light and breezy when she announces, "Midnight," in her posh accent.

Finnick hums. That gives him an hour to find the library, make sure Sil is otherwise occupied with some group of gaggling Capitolite 'friends', and sell what is left of his soul to a man that he might just hate even more than President Snow himself.

Sil studies his face carefully and takes a sip of her champagne. There is something very strange about him all of the sudden, but he won't tell her what it is. She's convinced that it has something to do with the Nightingale – what other purpose would Felix have in speaking with him? The question is, what is she missing?

"Dance with me, Finnick darling," she says abruptly, quickly downing the rest of her champagne and depositing it on a nearby table. Finnick doesn't even seem to hear her.

She gives him a wry smile and laughs, "My love, it's quite rude to make a woman ask twice." She sends him one of her too-wide smiles and pulls him into the ballroom, where she intends on wasting some time while she waits for Tommy to arrive.

She's got an hour ensure that Finnick is adequately distracted. She just hopes that he won't get in the middle of her plans this time around, as he seems to have a habit of doing.

* * *

The lavish estate in which the Charity Gala is held boasts many rooms, and the library might just be the finest – and the least frequented. Knowledge is power, but to these silly Capitolites, books aren't nearly as engaging as parlor tricks. Finnick is glad of that tonight.

When last he saw Sil, she was over at the bar with a few neon pink shots lined up in front of her, playing some sort of drinking game with a Capitol woman. He figured it was a good enough time as any to make his escape. He doesn't know the layout of this place, after all, and it takes him a while to locate the library. When he does, though, he's early.

An old fashioned, pre-war grandfather clock towers in one corner, loudly ticking away the time. It's 12:51. He has nine minutes before the elusive Sterling Nightingale shows himself. Nine minutes before the man he has searched for will appear. Nine minutes before the Peacekeeper militia barges in to arrest the spy.

He rubs his forehead and sighs heavily. Him and Sil had spoken about their plans many times by now. If they can broker a deal with the Nightingale – convince the man to rescue the Victors and get them all out of the Capitol – then Felix's plans will be meaningless. He won't be able to threaten Finnick with Annie's life because Annie will be safe in District 13. And he won't be able to take his anger out on Finnick or Sil because they'll also be safe in the rebel stronghold.

All he has to do is to warn the Nightingale of the plot for his life and gain his trust in the process. A small price to pay, and yet he has no idea if it will work. Nine minutes is not a long time to convince someone to risk their life for a lost cause.

He goes to stand near the window, looking out into the night. The clock ticks. Time passes. Until…

The clock chimes the hour, and upon the last beat, the library door opens. His breath catches in his throat for all of two seconds before he sees the red dress and the blonde hair and the glittering eyes. Eyes that immediately land on him with a look of subdued surprise.

He's a little bit surprised himself. With a confused frown, he stares at Sil. She wobbles a bit in her heels, shuts the door, and at once shoots into a too-wide smile and a laughing, "Gracious, Finnick! You gave me quite a fright! I've been looking for you for ages now – oh, my head is killing me my love, I think I had one too many shots – "

She stumbles, and he barely manages to reach out and catch her. Her weight makes him stumble too, for a moment, before he regains his footing and heaves her into an upright position. She blinks at him with hazy eyes and giggles drunkenly, "What on earth are you doing here, darling? It's not proper, hiding during a party."

He grits his teeth and mutters, "For Christ's sake, Sil – "

"Oh, darling, you smell divine. Let's stay here a while. It's so enchanting," she laughs, and he glares at her.

She's ruining all of his plans. Does she even realize how ridiculous she is sometimes? Why did she pick  _this_  room to stumble into? There are  _dozens_  of others that would have suited her just fine.

He grapples with her weight, dragging her against him to keep her from falling. She doesn't even make an attempt to hold herself up, seemingly content enough (and drunk enough) to let him do everything.

His patience is quickly vanishing. There's no way the Sterling Nightingale will show up now. Not with her making such a racket.

Exhaling sharply, Finnick closes his eyes for a moment and tries to clear his head. He purses his mouth and mutters, "Okay…come on, sugar. Let's get you to the couch…"

The sooner he can get his arms free, the happier he'll be. He half drags, half carries her to a nearby couch and deposits her on the cushions. Then he turns to survey the room – only for Sil to grab him by the collar and pull him into her body. The move is so unexpected that he doesn't have time to catch himself before his face is smashing into her chest in a decidedly unromantic manner.

"Ow!" he exclaims, rubbing his nose and glowering at her. Their limbs are tangled together. She's got one leg locked around his waist and she's grasping the lapels of his blazer with tight fingers. He can't move – not even to look behind him when he hears the door open again.

But Sil can move. And she does, the moment she sees who has entered the room.

Before Finnick is prepared for it, she's heaving him into her for the second time in a matter of moments. This time, though, the forceful tug is administered more gracefully. Her lips crash into his earnestly. He grunts against her in surprise, shocked at the way she wantonly presses him against her. Her other leg hooks around his waist to join the first when he tries to move away, keeping him locked in her embrace. She throws her arms around his shoulders and hums against him, dragging her fingers into his hair and pressing passion into every corner of his body. And – well, despite the fact that Finnick can taste the liquor on her tongue and is still extremely confused as to why she's so adamant about kissing him like this when she never has before…

He kisses her back. In fact, judging at the way he presses her into the couch and runs a hand over her thigh and up the silken contours of her hips, he does a little more than just kiss her back.

But – the Nightingale. Felix. The plan. He starts to pull away, only to be dragged back by an insistent Sil, who arches her body into his with a ragged moan that makes him feel like he's touching tempered fire.

"Sil – " he murmurs hoarsely, utterly conflicted.

"Finnick," he hears, but it isn't set in the tones of her voice.

With a start, he breaks the kiss and turns, only to find Felix standing in the doorway of the library, looking at the pair of them with disgusted, angry eyes.

Finnick lets out a shaky breath, freezing where he is. Out of fear or anxiety, he doesn't know. The warm press of Sil's body against his suddenly feels cold and unyielding, especially when Sil laughs drunkenly and chimes, "Felix my love, what on earth are you doing here? Can't you see we're busy? Go find some other room to loiter in – this one's taken."

There's a storm brewing in Felix's eyes, made all the worse when Sil hikes her leg up Finnick's waist and purrs, "Finnick, darling, don't stop, my love."

She turns Finnick's face back to hers and meets his eye. Strangely enough, despite the drunken way she moves, her gaze seems just as clear as ever. Her eyes are bright and wary all at once, and there is something deceptive in the dark undertones of them.

His confusion only worsens. She tilts her head and chuckles, reaching forward to wipe away the lipstick that's smeared against the corner of his mouth.

Felix grits his teeth at the sight. His hand clenches, and he growls, "You stupid girl – you'll pay for this."

Then, storming out, he slams the library door shut with malicious intent, leaving another sort of storm to brew in his wake.

Finnick frowns at her, tearing himself away from her embrace as if it burns him. Sil merely blinks up at him and drawls, "Whatever could be the matter, my love? You look like you need a drink. Why don't you get me one while you're at it? I'm dying for a pineapple margarita."

The inane words make Finnick swallow tightly and close his eyes, trying not to explode with anger at her ridiculous frivolities. And, as he does, Sil stares at him from her place on the couch – dress rumpled, pillows strewn everywhere, lipstick smudged…

And then she looks to the other side of the room with a careful glance, peering into the shadows at the barely discernable figure of Tommy.

"I'll be at the bar," Finnick snaps at her. He takes one last look at her form before sighing and walking to the door, no doubt deciding that it isn't worth waiting any longer for the spy who is surely not going to risk entering such a scene.

When it slams shut yet again, Sil puffs out her cheeks and murmurs, "Well…that was bracing."

From the other side of the room, Tommy chuckles quietly and shrugs, "I don't know. You looked like you were enjoying yourself."

Sil just rolls her eyes.

"You sure he won't come back to look for you?" Tommy asks after a moment, swinging a small black duffle bag onto the coffee table in front of the couch. Sil leans forward to unzip it, eyeing the door as she pulls out a pair of jeans and a button down shirt.

She pauses, and hums, "He seemed pretty angry when he left…"

Tommy snorts, "I meant Felix, you love sick idiot."

Sil opens her mouth and huffs, "Excuse you! I meant Felix too!"

Tommy smirks and drawls, "Yeah, sure you did. Hurry up and get dressed. We don't have much time."

She grumbles and stands up.

"…I don't know why I keep you around," she mutters as she changes, stuffing the red gown into the duffle bag for later.

Tommy chuckles and murmurs, "I'm a rich Capitolite heir, and you're a wealthy Career Victor. Your guess is as good as mine."

Sil sends him an amused smile and shakes her head.

"Come on, then. We've got a prison to infiltrate," she says once she's done changing, and swings the duffle bag over her shoulder as she heads to the window.

Her and Tommy soon disappear into the city streets, leaving the gala and all their rich 'friends' behind. Sil only hopes that Finnick won't be too furious with her when she makes her less than stellar return later that night…

He doesn't understand, yet, why she does what she does. He  _can't_  understand until he's somewhere safer than the chaos of the Capitol. Any change in their routine would cast suspicion on them, and they are already under too much of that as it is. No, for now, he must continue searching for the Sterling Nightingale, not knowing just who he is hunting or how close his mark really is. For now, it is the only insurance policy that Sil has – to keep him safe, to keep him whole.

She will do whatever it takes.


	35. Belonging to no one at all

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Sil and Tommy make a trip to the Capitol prisons, and what they discover there is more than sickening.
> 
> Feel free to leave a review! :)

 

**Chapter Thirty Five | Belonging to no one at all**

" _How thoroughly a human being can be buffeted and over-mastered by Fate, has been borne in upon her with appalling force." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

Dorsey is waiting for them. His shop is long closed and the lights are out, but he is still awake. He sits in the vault with his pug at his feet, and when Sil and Tommy show up, he nearly stomps over the creature in his haste to stand up. The pug growls at the injustice and goes to lay under the table instead.

"There you are," Dorsey says, sounding relieved. "And here I was worried that you'd have trouble."

He chuckles at the thought, but the sound quickly dies when Sil drawls, "We did have trouble." Dorsey pauses to give her a look, and she sighs, "Finnick was waiting in the library when I showed up. Felix must have baited him – I saw them speaking earlier but Finnick wouldn't tell me what they said."

The information makes Dorsey frown. "Felix must have discovered our plan…or, at least a piece of it."

Tommy nods, "He knew the Nightingale would be in the library at exactly one o'clock. One of our messages must have been intercepted. We need to be more careful."

Sil hums. "We should inform 13 of this. Perhaps they could provide a more secure method of sending messages. We can't afford to take chances, not now."

Dorsey snorts and crosses his arms. "What a mess. So Felix sends Finnick to do his dirty work…I hope you've got a plan, Sil."

Sil opens her mouth to respond, but Tommy cuts in with an amused, "Oh, she's got a plan. It seemed like it was pretty effective on her husband."

She feels her cheeks redden just so as her mind drifts back to the wanton kiss she had dragged Finnick into. Gracious, but that had not been something she'd anticipated having to do tonight. When she had walked into the library, expecting Tommy but finding Finnick instead, she had barely managed to pull off the stumbling drunkard act. And then, when Tommy had showed up at the last second, Sil had done the only thing she could think of to distract Finnick from turning around. She had locked him in an embrace, drew him into her in a way she never had before, and kept his head turned towards her as Tommy hid in the shadows. Just in time, too, for Felix made an appearance of his own after that.

Bracing had been a good word for it.

She clears her throat and snips, "Shall we get on with it? We have only a short time frame, after all." Tommy chuckles at her adamant tone and Sil huffs. "Where are the other agents, anyhow?" Sil asks after a moment, glancing over at Dorsey.

The man gestures to the large map of Panem hanging on the wall behind him and says, "Marcus is in 2. We've got a few in 5 trying to break down the dam that powers the Capitol and a few in the other districts trying to work up the riots. Zephyr is in 7, I think…don't worry Sil, they're safer outside of the Capitol."

She sighs, but knows he's right. It would be useful to have a little more manpower though. Three lone agents against the entire Capitol isn't very promising, but she's experienced worse odds.

"We should suit up, Tommy," she says after a moment, glancing behind her at the curtained off doorway that leads into a small room that she playfully refers to as her 'closet'. It contains her disguises, ranging from more frivolous everyday outfits to blend in with the other Capitolites to the Peacekeeper armor that she starts pulling on now. Before long, both her and Tommy are outfitted in the gleaming white armor and Dorsey is tugging the embroidered map from the wall, uncovering the entrance to the tunnel system.

"Be careful," he tells them as they enter the tunnels. "There'll be a lot of guards. And remember – this is an in and out job. Don't try anything heroic, Sil."

Sil just sniffs haughtily, though the noise is rather muffled by the Peacekeepers helmet she's wearing, and responds, "Gracious, but the notion sounds positively exhausting."

She can't claim, after all, that she is a hero. She prefers to think of herself as a humanitarian, with an extra dose of common sense and good fortune.

Tommy and her leave Dorsey behind after that. They can't linger. Time is of the essence. Not only is it smarter for them to be as efficient as possible tonight, but Finnick will also be wondering where Sil has gotten off to. With his presence ghosting around the corners of her periphery, she knows she has to be even more careful. She feels a little bad for leaving him to fend for himself at the gala. He loathes Capitol parities, but he had been in a strangely good mood for the first half of it, getting her drinks and dancing with her and even complimenting her…

She furrows her brow and tries to shake the thoughts away. The confusion she feels wherever Finnick Odair is concerned is not something she should be musing about right now, no matter how worried she is about facing him again.

After that kiss…gracious, but can she be blamed for being a tiny bit nervous?

The tunnel system that runs beneath the city hasn't been used for decades. There are two layers of tunnels: one for the subway, and one that is older and further underground. It is the latter that they navigate now, winding through the darkness with a familiarity that can only be achieved through constant use. Sil knows these tunnels like the back of her hand. She's explored them often enough. They reach their destination without much trouble.

They both take a moment to wipe of the grim of the sewer system from the planes of their white armor, and then the pair of them step out into a nondescript street alleyway. The prison is just up the block. Its grand infrastructure boasts towering alabaster stones that seem to blend into the other in such a seamless manner that it appears to the casual observer as if it is all one piece of rock. Large flags snap in the wind; a proud exhibition of Panem's emblem on one side, and on the other, President Coriolanus Snow's personal crest. There are three double doors at the entrance, and one or all of them are opened often to accommodate the exits and entrances of its many workers. The city's Peacekeeper militia are stationed here as their primary outpost, but the building also has several departments that employ many blue-collar workers as well. It is not uncommon to see white armor and satin suits walking side by side up the long stairway. It is therefore not uncommon for Sil and Tommy to walk right into the building.

They have their fabricated IDs ready, allowing them access into the main lobby. The upper floors are reserved for officials and businessmen, but they make their way to the lower halls, where the Peacekeeper quarters are located. The prisons stretch out below in several underground levels. At this time of night, there are only a few people around to witness the two Peacekeepers getting on the elevator that will take them down. It isn't a strange sight and no one stops them.

No one would ever suspect that the Sterling Nightingale would have an outfit of Peacekeeper armor, after all.

Sil and Tommy don't say a word as the elevator drops them off on the lowest level. It's a bit riskier to be down this far. Only Snow's highest ranking officers visit the deepest fathoms of the prisons, for the most important criminals are kept within its dank and loathsome cells. Several Peacekeepers guard the area though, so Sil and Tommy blend into the scene as best as they are able.

Still, it isn't enough to keep them from all suspicion.

"Two more guards? The guard change isn't for another hour," a Peacekeeper says when he catches sight of them. His helmet shields his expression from them, but his voice is telltale enough. He sounds confused.

Sil glances at Tommy, who shrugs and says, "We have orders from the Lieutenant to check on Mellark. Wants us to give him a report on his progress. Are his handlers around?"

The Peacekeeper pauses, but it's impossible to see what he's thinking with the black visor over his eyes. He hesitates for a moment, then jerks his thumb behind him and drawls, "They're back there. You know they never leave."

Ah. Don't they? Sil stores that information in the back of her mind and says, "Last we heard, Mellark's been a huge success. The Lieutenant will be pleased."

The Peacekeeper seems a bit more relaxed when he nods. "We're just doing our job. Make sure you put  _that_  in your report."

Tommy raises a hand to salute him in proper Peacekeeper fashion. He receives a salute back, and the guard continues on his way. The moment he rounds the corner, Sil breathes out a sigh of relief and turns to Tommy.

"Come on," she whispers, stepping towards the other end of the hall. He follows silently.

It's a strange thing, the way adrenaline pumps through her so thoroughly. One wrong move, one wrong word, could ruin their disguises. Thankfully, both her and Tommy have worn this particular outfit enough times and they have a good idea how to act.

They turn the corner and head down a flight of stairs, then swing a right. After passing through a few more halls and going down another staircase, the main hall of the prison extends out to greet them.

Just like the last time Sil has been down here, she is thoroughly revolted by it. Besides the dismal lighting and the dank squalor of the place, there is a damp odor that perforates the entirety of the prison. It is a mixture of blood, gore, and human waste, and it makes her sick to her stomach. She ignores it, for the most part, as she heads down the hall to where several men in white lab coats are standing at the end of it.

They look up when they approach, clearly not expecting to have company down here at this time of night. It is a little curious, perhaps, but no one questions Lieutenant Felix's orders.

"We're here for your report," Sil says after saluting them. "The Lieutenant wants it for the morning. The President wants an update as soon as possible."

The so-called scientists (Sil prefers to think of them as torturers, for that is what they truly are) immediately turn to them.

"Ah, just a moment then. We'll get it ready for you," one of them says. He turns to go collect one of the documents on a nearby desk. It's rather clear that they aren't prepared to give an official report, for they seem a bit stressed out as they gather around the desk and murmur to each other about the various techniques that have been used on their prisoner.

Some of the paperwork is already filled out, but much of it needs to be finished still. One of the men casts them a harried glance and quickly says, "It'll only take a few minutes."

Tommy returns with a short, "That's fine."

And it is. A few extra minutes will give them time to peruse the cells. Of course, they don't wander off needlessly, but they do turn their attentions to the room in hopes of catching sight of the other Victors.

Unfortunately, there isn't much to see. The cells are bared with thick metal doors with only small windows on the front. The prisoners within them are utterly isolated save for that single window, and as a result, Sil and Tommy can't see beyond them.

Glancing over at Tommy, Sil murmurs, "I'll try to get a better look."

Tommy casts a look at the group of scientists, who look entirely engrossed in filling out their report as quickly as possible, and whispers, "Be careful."

Sil has found, though, that being careful never gets one anywhere. She idles off to the side, trying to appear bored and impatient with the scientists, and slowly walks towards the nearest cell as if her direction is completely unplanned. When she's several feet away from it, she turns her head to peer inside the small window. What she sees within makes her stomach roil.

Johanna. She only manages to get the briefest glance before moving on, not wanting to appear suspicious should any of the scientists look over at her, but she sees the Victor laying prone on a white mattress. Her head is shaved, and she looks like a skeleton. There are bruises coloring the length of her arms and they probably cover the rest of her too, though Sil doesn't know for certain because she's got a blanket over her. She's awake, but her eyes are dead as she stares up at the ceiling, and she looks hardly human.

She's never gotten along with Johanna that well, but she would never wish for such treatment on anybody.

Sil swallows tightly and keeps walking, hands casually resting on her ammo belt as she approaches the next cell.

Enobaria. For a moment, Sil wonders if it's really her. The brutal Victor from District 2 is looking decidedly weaker than Sil has ever seen her. She too is laying on a bed, and even though her back is turned towards the door, the lashes on her skin makes it clear that she has not been immune to the Capitol's suspicion either, despite her loyalist upbringing. She wonders if the woman is as loyal these days as she used to be, but can't stop to muse upon the thought, because that is when she reaches the next cell.

The waves of red hair are unmistakable. Unlike the other cells, Sil can't help but linger in front of Annie's door. She turns and stares, horrified at the sight she makes. Annie, the gentle woman who had so generously invited her into her district even though Sil's reputation had proceeded her – the kind warm woman who had insisted that Sil have another drink of homemade rum, whose smile had been like warm sunshine on a rainy day – looks utterly broken.

She knows in that moment that if Finnick saw her now, he would he just as broken. Setting her shoulders back, Sil inhales slowly and calms herself. She can do nothing right now. The purpose of her and Tommy being here tonight is not to rescue the Victors; it's to give District 13 the information they need to infiltrate the prison themselves. Attempting a rescue of this caliber, for so many Victors, with only her and Tommy and Dorsey – it would be suicide. District 13 needs to take control of this mission, but if Sil can provide the data they need, then at least she's doing her part.

She forces herself to look away from Annie and turns back to the scientists, who are still speaking amongst themselves. She makes her way back to Tommy, who is standing in front of another cell – the one that the scientists had been standing in front of when they had arrived. The sight inside is enough to make Sil's head spin.

"…He looks peaceful," Tommy whispers, and Sil swallows tightly.

Peaceful isn't quite the word she would use, but she knows what he means. Peeta Mellark appears as though he is calmly sleeping, his head turned to the door as he lays on the pillows. But – the shadows beneath his eyes, the haunted look on his face, the way he fists the blanket aggressively…

Sil doesn't answer. There is nothing to say.

"Here we are!" one of the scientists exclaims, and walks towards them with the full report in hand, stamped for approval and signed. He hands it off to Tommy, who is closest to him, and says, "I apologize for making you wait. We weren't prepared to make an official report yet, but this should update President Snow on the progress."

Tommy nods and tucks the manila file under his arm. "Thank you. We'll be on our way, then."

The scientist nods. "Goodnight."

He watches the two Peacekeepers head out the way they'd come, and then turns back to his companions and tilts his head. "Very strange. Just yesterday, the Lieutenant said to have the report ready for the end of the week. I wonder what the hurry is."

His companions just shrug.

* * *

Getting out of the building is a little harder than getting into it. They go as quickly as they can, slowing down to a more casual pace when they see another person. They are just walking into the front lobby when one of the large doors is thrown open, and the man who steps inside makes Sil's blood freeze in her veins. She sees Tommy turn his head to glance at her, but neither of them stops for more than a few seconds as they both lift their hands in salute.

Felix barely even pauses to look at them. The sight of two Peacekeepers in the military barracks is hardly out of the ordinary, and he is far too furious to give them even a moment of his attention. Through her dark visor, Sil catches sight of the set jaw and the blazing eyes. He looks very briefly at the file beneath Tommy's arm before charging passed them with hastened, angry intention. When he jams his finger into the button of the elevator, it is rather clear as to where he is going.

They've barely managed to get out of the lower cells before his arrival at the prison. Sil isn't sure if this is a stroke of luck, or if it is the complete opposite, for he would not be going down to the cells at this time of night unless he meant to take his fury out on someone. He surely isn't going to do that to the scientists.

Tommy nudges her discreetly, and Sil starts walking to the doors, this time a little faster. Even as they step outside into the cool darkness of night, her mind spins at the thought of who Felix's target will be. Considering how the Charity Gala had gone down, she has little doubt as to which Victor will bear the brunt of his anger this time. Who else, but the red haired Victor who means so much to Finnick?

Neither her nor Tommy says anything as they hasten down the street. It is only when they are back in the tunnels that they break the silence.

As she tears her helmet off, she frets, "We have to send this to District 13 immediately."

Thoughts of Annie spiral through her.

Tommy hums in agreement. "Come on. Let's get back to Dorsey's shop and read through this file. Then you need to get back to your apartment. You've got Finnick to worry about, remember?"

His voice might have normally been creased with humor at the words, but such an emotion has no place in their conversation right now. Not after what they had just seen.

Sil sighs again but doesn't respond. Instead she just presses forward, setting a fast pace through the underground tunnels. They make it back to the shop about twenty minutes later, and Sil is so relieved to be back at the base that she starts wrangling herself out of her armor the moment she steps inside.

"What'd you find?" Dorsey asks immediately, stepping forward to shut and bolt the large metal hull that opens to the tunnel system.

Tommy throws the manila file onto the table and takes his helmet off. As he sets it beside the file, Sil mutters, "All the Victors are down there, pretty much in the same place. If District 13 could get in, it would be relatively simple to get them all out."

And – almost too easy, really, but she's too tired to question the red flag that this thought brings.

Dorsey hums, flicking through the file with solemn eyes. The more he reads, the tenser he gets. Though the file only contains information about Peeta and not the others, it is not easy to read through. Sil discovers that for herself when she leans around him to read it herself.

Various torture methods are all documented, but the majority of the accounts follow the progress of the Tracker Jacker venom that they have apparently been using on Peeta. The dosages, the symptoms, the side effects – they're all there, including Peeta's reactions, which range from hysterical backlash to calm disregard the more doses were administered. And that is not all.

There is account after account on what had been done to Peeta after the doses were given. The torture that was inflicted. The attempts to turn his mind away from the rebellion – away from Katniss. Sil sees the girl's name written several times over the pages, all documenting how Peeta had reacted to her image.

In the beginning, he had reached out for her, but…

The latest entry describes the complete opposite.

As Sil reads the report of his anger when seeing the image of Katniss Everdeen – his fury and his hatred towards her – she feels her heart skip a beat.

"Christ," Dorsey mutters, and leans back.

No one says anything for a long moment. Dorsey silently steps over to fill some mugs with coffee before handing them out. Sil barely touches hers. She is too busy thinking about Peeta and the torture he has been going through these past few weeks. And then there is Annie. Poor, innocent Annie. What has she been through? What horrors have been inflicted upon her?

"…You should head back," Tommy says to her after a long moment. "I'll scan the files and send them to District 13."

Sil rubs her forehead, but doesn't argue. One glance at the clock tells her that it would be foolish to.

She's been gone for two hours. Has it really been that long? It's almost three o'clock in the morning, and Finnick must be wondering where on earth she has gotten off to. The gala is no doubt in full swing still, but she doubts he's still there, especially without her to force him to try to have a good time.

With a sigh, she heads over to the small curtained closet and pulls out the red gown she'd worn hours before. As she changes back into the luxurious number, all she can think about is how the gala feels like an eternity ago.

"We'll let you know if there are any complications," Dorsey tells her when she returns to the room, her hair still in its intricate updo from before, though somewhat messier from her jaunt through the prisons. Peacekeeper helmets aren't great for hairdos, not that she really cares right now. All she cares about is getting back to her apartment and hopefully getting some sleep.

After what she had just seen in those cells though…she isn't sure if sleep will come easily tonight, no matter how exhausted she is.

Sil just nods to her comrades before taking her leave. She carefully trudges through Dorsey's darkened shop, making sure to cover the entrance of the vault before she leaves. When she's back on the street, it's like a ghost town. At least in this neighborhood, no one is awake.

Not so, when she walks around the next bend. The main road is as busy as it would be at noon. People walk the streets, and cars whirl around the corners. Sil keeps her head down and gets into a taxi as soon as she can, not wanting to attract attention.

"59th street," Sil tells the cab driver, her voice flat and missing its usual posh accent. The driver pulls out onto the road and she stares out of the window.

She wishes she could go back and help them, but she knows she can't. She is only one person. She must wait for District 13. Still, the thought of waiting even another moment galls her. What is being done to the Victors is unimaginable.

When she arrives at her apartment building some minutes later, her exhaustion seems to have doubled. She pays the driver and gets out, wobbling a bit in her four inch heels. If anyone notices her, they most likely assume that she is coming back from one of her parties. It is a common enough sight. Not even the lobby personnel bat an eye at her late return.

She sends them a tired wave of her hand as she passes, and doesn't wait to see if they nod back. She can't reach the elevator fast enough. When she reaches her apartment, though, she finds herself wishing that she had lingered just a little bit longer.

Even though it is three o'clock in the morning, Finnick is awake. The kitchen lights are on, and when she steps inside, he's leaning against the counter with a mug of tea in his hands. He's still wearing his clothes from before, minus the blazer. His crisp white dress shirt is mussed up and a bit wrinkled now, and the bronze waves of his hair are even more pronounced than ever.

Sil takes a deep breath, and goes to lean against the threshold of the doorway, one hand clutching the trim as if to keep herself upright. She watches him carefully, but he just stares down at his tea.

In a blank voice, he asks, "Where were you?"

Sil pauses. As expected, Finnick does not seem very pleased at her disappearance. She'd spent the taxi ride coming up with a viable excuse – as silly as inane as possible – but now…

She is so tired of lying to him.

So instead, she just steps forward to join him at the counter and murmurs, "I'm sorry, Finnick. Something came up."

He looks over at her, half incredulous and half amused. He can't imagine what that 'something' is, or why she says it so seriously. He imagines that it must have been something silly, like some ridiculous card game that had captured her attention a little too thoroughly. He had to hear from that Capitolite friend of hers (Opal, was it?) that Sil would meet him back at the apartment later on. He had  _worried_  after her.

He wants to demand an answer, wants to pry the truth from her – but when he looks up and catches her eye, there is a haunted look in her gaze that makes him pause. She doesn't even seem to be looking at him at all. Though her eyes are trained to his, she seems to be staring passed him into some horrible memory that she cannot shake. There is a listlessness about her that does not seem to fit with the rest of her character.

He frowns, and slowly asks her, "Just tell me if Felix was the reason you disappeared."

He hopes his voice doesn't come across as if he's begging, but truth be told, he desperately wants the answer to his question. Felix had been furious at them both, after all, for disrupting his plan tonight. The Sterling Nightingale is still at large, his identity firmly in the dark, and it is Sil who is to blame for it. The way she had stumbled into the library and drunkenly thrown herself at him was…well, it was several things, the least of which was rather debilitating to Felix's plan.

Sil stares up at him for a long moment, taken aback by the tense set of his shoulders and the protective quality of his voice. His eyes are blazing with it. It makes her feel a thousand emotions that flutter over her skin too quickly for her to give them name, and leaves her into a jittery mess of nervous energy.

Why is she nervous around him all of the sudden? She thinks back to the cells, to the sight of Annie's hunched and bruised form, and wonders.

If Annie was here, in this room, regardless of her state of health…would Finnick still decide to stand beside her? The silly Victor from District 1.

Swallowing thickly, Sil exhales with a breathless laugh, and shakes her head. She keeps her eyes trained to the top button of Finnick's shirt rather than his eyes when she whispers, "No. Felix had nothing to do with it."

Unless one counts using his name to gain entrance to the city prison, and his rank to demand medical information about Peeta, and his title to learn about the state of the other Victors. Unless one recalls the sheer fury of his demeanor when he had unknowingly stormed passed Sil and Tommy to inflict his rage upon a hapless, gentle soul.

Dear God. Has she done this? Is this her fault? Is she to blame for Annie's suffering? The turbulent atmosphere of her current state is far too chaotic for her to untangle. She does not know if there might have been a way to avoid this. Now in hindsight, her thoughts spiral in all directions as if she is searching for one, though it will do her no good now.

Finnick frowns at her and reaches out to lift her chin. "Hey, what's the matter, sugar?" he asks. When she just stares at him, head spinning with thoughts of torture and darkness, his brow furrows even more. "Sil?"

The sound of her name seems to drag her out of wherever she had been, and she pulls back with a short laugh. "Gracious, it's nearly morning and we haven't gotten any sleep at all – "

Her words are cut off, though, when she takes a step for the door and her four inch heel suddenly slips on the smooth tiled floor. She twists her ankle in an utterly graceless stumble, veering to the side without intention. Luckily, or not, Finnick grabs her by the waist and heaves her up before she can fall flat on her face. He hadn't quite meant to have dragged her so close to him in the process, but he doesn't do anything to pull away. She is pressed flush to his body, but neither of them move.

She stares up at him with those strange eyes, and Finnick presses his hand against the silken contours of her back as he hoarsely whispers, "Are you alright?"

She opens her mouth to tell him 'yes', but then she remembers that she is sick of lying to the man she has so stupidly fallen for, and merely settles for a strained, "…I'm exhausted."

She doesn't think she's ever said two words that rang with such sincere clarity in all her life.

He searches her eyes for a long moment. In the press of seconds that span the breadth and space of that brief time, he seems to be pulled closer to her like a magnet drawn towards its opposite half, stuck within a polarizing force whose path cannot be altered. Sil watches him, chin tilted up, breathing shallow, and wonders at the quiet look in his eyes.

It is subtly construed of fire and ashes; of the delicacy of smoldering embers in a hearth; of the careful wariness of emotions too undefined to explain in any language that requires words.

"…You kissed me, in the library," he murmurs. She can feel his breath against her lips, and without thought, she wets them with her tongue. His eyes blaze down to stare at her mouth for a long moment as he waits for a response.

She doesn't have one. All she has is barely coherent, "Yes."

His gaze darts back to hers. "Why?"

The question makes her smile a little. She smiles because it's such a simple question, and yet the answer is a complicated tangle of half-truths that do not hold any simplicity at all.

"Must a woman always have a reason for what she does?" she asks him, and his expression shifts into curiosity, as if he has hit a roadblock that he cannot understand.

He supposes that he's been stuck at this particular roadblock for a long time, now.

"People usually have reasons for when they kiss someone," he tells her, studying the curve of her smile. It is a wonderful sight compared to the haunted look she had worn only minutes before, and he is glad to see it.

Sil hums. "You make me feel very strong, Finnick. As if I could do anything."

He blinks at her in surprise, having not expected such a response. He doesn't know what it has to do with kissing him, but he can't deny the warmth that blossoms in his chest as her sincerity bolsters through her words. No one has ever said that to him before. It's strange, how he thinks it might be the biggest compliment he's ever received – and from her, no less. This silly Victor who never seems to sit still, who reads tabloid magazines and stuffs her closet with more gowns than she'll ever be able to wear in her lifetime. This woman who possesses within her a most compelling nature – a whirlwind, a thunderstorm – who shows him another side of her every day, as if she is a finely cut diamond with a thousand edges.

He stares at her, and she stares back, and they both wonder if the other will erase the distance between them while being singularly nervous to do it themselves.

Such is the nature of undisclosed affection.

"Come on," Finnick finally says after a moment, and pulls away from the strange embrace that had not felt like an embrace at all, but rather some perpetual merging of two souls meeting each other as if for the first time, in some universe that lives in the uncharted spaces between their bodies.

Sil lets him lead her to her bedroom. She sinks down on the edge of her mattress and kicks her heels off. He lingers there in the center of her room for a moment, studies the strange solemnity of her face and the haunted look that has returned to her gaze, and hesitates. He feels the magnetizing force pull at him again, but this time, he is unsure if he should act upon it. He turns towards the door instead.

But then…

"Finnick," Sil blurts, peering over at him. He looks back at her, and she swallows. "…What would you do if someone was lying to you?"

Raising an eyebrow, Finnick turns fully towards her and studies her. Hands loosely resting in his pockets and shirt partially unbuttoned, he looks the picture of ease; as untouchable as ever, as if he has just stepped out of a magazine cover.

He frowns. "…Are you?"

She immediately laughs, though it is a strange sound, and says, "No, I – gracious, I was only wondering."

For all the truth that had been exchanged between them moments before, this lie tastes quite bitter.

Finnick is too tired to wonder at her peculiarities. It must be nearing four in the morning by now, and he is exhausted. With a sigh, he shrugs and mutters, "I guess it depends on the lie, and why the person is lying in the first place."

Sil blinks. "That's a very…thoughtful response."

He snorts, and stares at her carefully. "If you have something to tell me, sugar, you should probably do it now."

Memories of his reaction to discovering the part she has played in collecting his clients blares through her. He surely is remembering it too, for his voice is very solemn and almost wary.

She pauses, mind whirling. She wonders if he will be as angry as he'd been before, when he discovers that she has been leading him in circles concerning the Sterling Nightingale. She wonders if he will hate her for keeping such a huge secret. For weaving such a large net of lies.

She tries her best to smile and breezily murmurs, "It's nothing, Finnick."

Nothing.

Whether he believes her or not, he doesn't question her any further. With a sigh, he heaves, "Goodnight, sugar," and turns back towards the door.

This time, Sil doesn't stop him.


	36. And to everyone at once

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Sil begins to prepare her back-up plan against her upcoming nuptials, and her and Finnick run a seemingly normal errand.
> 
> This particular chapter will set in motion the plot regarding Sil and Finnick's upcoming marriage ceremony. The next chapter will delve into that more fully, unless of course I change things around again and add new content! You never know...
> 
> Hope you all enjoy!

 

**Chapter Thirty Six | And to everyone at once**

" _Thus society accepted him, made much of him, since his horses were the finest in the country, his fétes and wines the most sought after. Moreover, Sir Percy got no pity, because he seemed to require none – he seemed very proud of his clever wife, and to care little that she took no pains to disguise the good-natured contempt which she evidently felt for him, and that she even amused herself by sharpening her ready wits at his expense." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

If there's one good thing about the Capitol, it has to be the fact that the law is taken very seriously. Well – that's not always a good thing in her case, but this time around, Sil is very happy.

The attorney that she is affiliated with goes by the name of Tobias Barnaby. She's only seen him a handful of times over the last few years, but each meeting is handled with care and discretion. President Snow has made sure that all his Victors are set up with the very best, just in case something goes haywire in their already caustic lives. It is about the only insurance that their dear President takes out for them.

Dorsey had looked into Tobias Barnaby when he was first assigned to Sil as her lawyer, right after her Victory Tour seven years prior. Barnaby also handles several other Victors and, according to Dorsey, rarely ever goes out of his way to attain any of the celebrity status that most of his colleagues obsess over. He seems to be perfectly fine with living a quiet life. Despite handling several cases involved with Victors over the course of his career, Barnaby rarely ever makes the headlines, either. Dorsey seems to think he is trustworthy enough, at least when it comes to President Snow. Sil is banking on the hope that Tobias Barnaby won't turn on her and inform Snow as to the reason she is at his office.

It's too late to turn back anyway. She's already made the appointment to see him this afternoon, and the preparation for doing so had taken her the better part of last night and this morning. She had to make sure that Finnick would be away while she is out, come up with a viable excuse should she run into him, and get to Barnaby's office in complete discretion. By the time she actually makes it to the office, Sil is rather exhausted from it all.

Her exhaustion is also, in part, due to the fact that Dorsey hasn't heard back from District 13 since sending over Peeta's medical files. He's only gotten a very brief message to let him know that said files were received, but no further orders were given involving the hopefully imminent rescue of the captive Victors. Sil has been hounding Dorsey for the last few days now about it, but he always gets back to her with the same reply: so far, District 13 has been silent regarding their plans. Perhaps it is just as well, for now, because Sil has several of her own plans to implement in the meantime.

She walks casually into the firm, huge sunglasses sitting demurely atop her nose. They make her small face look even smaller, especially with the wide-brimmed hat shielding her. It is her armor, she thinks with amusement, and brushes out the wrinkles in her long black and white stripped dress as she looks around. The secretary looks up at her when she walks to the desk.

"Miss Cornelius – oh, I'm terribly sorry.  _Mrs. Odair,"_  the woman hastily corrects as she stands up from her desk. "Mr. Barnaby is waiting for you in his office."

Sil smiles widely and simpers, "Gracious, I hope I'm not late. Thank you, my love. I'll let myself in, shall I?" Without waiting for an answer, Sil makes her way down the hall.

Mr. Barnaby's office is located at the end of it. An expensive looking sign is bolted to the door with his name written in golden lettering. Sil takes one glance at it and raises an eyebrow, her mind flashing back to the endless lessons her father would give her on each precious stone and metal in his jewelry making. The lettering looks to be fake gold. Probably a metallic type of paint with the barest shards of the true metal, meant to give his office the appearance of status and wealth without spending the money to do it. Very smart of Tobias Barnaby, she decides as she reaches for the doorknob.

Inside, it is even more luxurious. He'd definitely given the place a significant remodeling since the last time she's been here. The room is glamorous in a subtle way, as if it draws from the energy of wealth without blinding people with it. There are a few leather chairs and end tables pressed up beside a Pre-War electric fireplace, and the golden gilded theme seems to have spread from the door plaque to the desk itself.

Another placard with Barnaby's name sits atop the impressive piece of furniture. Behind it sits Barnaby himself, who upon seeing her stands up and greets, "Mrs. Odair, how nice to see you again. It's been quite a long time, hasn't it?"

Mr. Tobias Barnaby seems to have gotten a remodeling of his own. His dark brown hair is now speckled with shards of silver, and his pointed chin is bearing a trimmed beard that looks well on him. He seems to be taking to his age very easily.

Sil plants a too-wide smile on her face and teeters over in her stilettos, looking precarious as always. Finnick would say she looks downright dangerous. Finnick. The whole reason she is here to begin with.

She politely extends her hand to shake Barnaby's, and then sits down in the chair on the other side of his desk. With a purr, she tells him, "The way you styled the space is  _very_  impressive, Tobias. I do adore the gold lettering – even though it's fake."

Barnaby looks shocked. "No one else has ever noticed before. Even the  _painters_  couldn't tell the difference."

Sil laughs aloud and through her laughter says, "Oh gracious. Gemma Cornelius is my father, after all. I know my way around precious metals."

Barnaby smiles and says in what looks like complete seriousness, "You are a rare gem yourself, Mrs. Odair. The whole of Panem underestimates you."

The words strike a little too close to home, but Sil doesn't feel threatened. She knows the risk of coming here today. Snow has the majority of Capitolites in his pocket, their loyalties undiminished and even strengthened by the rebellion. Yet she has a feeling that Tobias Barnaby is trustworthy and won't go tattling on her once this is all finished. Call it a stroke of intuition – whatever it is, she has decided to throw her lot in with him.

"Call me Silver, Tobias. I believe we're on a first name basis by now," she says demurely. "The reason I'm here today is perhaps rather…well. Delicate."

She thinks it's a good word to describe her current circumstances. Barnaby tilts his head and nods as if this isn't altogether surprising, probably because he deals with delicate situations on a daily basis.

"Go on," he urges, sitting back in his chair. He reaches up to touch his beard as he watches her through surprisingly kind eyes, for a Capitolite.

"I'd like some papers. Divorce papers, to be exact." The words tumble from her lips in an almost halting manner, but the moment they're out, she feels so relieved. It's taken her quite a bit of courage to come here and set this up. If the news was to spread around the Capitol that she plans to divorce her fake husband of only eight weeks…well, she'd rather not think about what would happen.

Tobias, naturally, looks surprised, but he handles it very maturely when he says, "I can draw them up for you, of course. Would it be out of line if I asked the reason?"

Sil pauses and chuckles with a shrug, as if the question is not nearly as difficult as it really is. She's not entirely sure whether she trusts Barnaby quite  _that_  much.

Even so, she replies, "As I said, it's a delicate matter. Purely a back up plan, I can assure you. I don't intend on using the papers any time soon, but I'd like to have them in case something happens with this terrible rebellion. I understand it's easier to go through the original lawyer than any subsequent ones."

It's the truth, just not the whole truth. She doesn't want to give the impression that she knows when the rebellion will strike or what will happen. Barnaby might not give official reports of his cases to Snow, but everyone in the Capitol is subject to a level of distrust.

Tobias nods graciously at her response and leans forward. "I can't say I'm terribly shocked at your request, Silver. Your new husband has certainly gotten into his fair share of trouble with the female population of this city. If you'd like me to draft these documents, then I will. I can have them mailed to you by tomorrow evening, the earliest."

She smiles and lets him believe that it's Finnick she's concerned about, not the fact that they are getting married –  _officially_  married – against their own will.

"That would be wonderful, Tobias, but I think it would be better if I come to pick them up personally. I don't want my husband seeing them and thinking any less of me. Like I said, it's merely a back up plan."

It's not such an odd request in this bustling, wayward city, where spouses are exchanged as easily as one might alter the clothes in their closet. Nothing worthwhile ever seems to last around here.

He nods agreeably and says, "In that case, I shall have them prepared by late afternoon. Why don't you have my secretary write you in for a follow-up appointment, and we can go over the documents while you're here."

Sil nods and stands up. "I'll do that, thank you Tobias. I truly appreciate your discretion in this matter."

Tobias stands up as well and shakes her hand again. "Certainly. I'll see you tomorrow, Silver."

She gives a trilling, "Till tomorrow," and makes her way out of the office. The secretary stands up again when she sees her, smiling politely with her hands clasped in front of her.

"Will you be making another appointment, Mrs. Odair?" she asks as Sil stops in front of the desk.

Sil smiles widely and nods, and they schedule in another slot for the next day before Sil heads back outside into the Capitol streets, head low so as not to attract unwanted attention. She blends right in with the other Capitol women, and no one is the wiser that their Victor walks among them. She heads down the populated street to the corner, where it is easier to catch a cab, and hopes that Finnick is still out by the time she gets home.

Luckily, Sil has plenty of reasons to leave her apartment now that the wedding is set. Finnick is still gone and she's grateful, despite having a wedding gown fitting excuse on the tip of her tongue the moment she opens her door. She slips off her heels and pulls out her PAAD, checking to see if she's got any new messages from Dorsey.

The screen is blank, though. Her accomplice must still be trying to plan things with District 13. She hopes they'll figure everything out soon, because she's going crazy with worry that something bad will happen during the rescue attempt. So many things are at stake.

She sighs and walks to the refrigerator. The shelves are dismally bare – she's still not completely used to buying food for two. Finnick has quite an appetite and his preference for homemade dinners means that she needs to buy more ingredients than she normally does.

She can't complain though – she doubts she's ever eaten as well as she has the last few weeks. The Capitol has delicious food, but it's so rich and creamy that Sil finds she can't eat it all of the time anyway. She might be from the luxury district, but even well-to-do families in District 1 don't usually eat such fine foods every day.

Finnick prefers to make recipes from his own district – meals that are simple yet delicious. He is a good cook, far better than her, and often whisks something up for them even without proper ingredients. Sometimes he even cooperates with her silly little dieting schedule – though lately he's been attempting to make her eat more red meat because she's 'too skinny'.

She flickers through the cabinets and jots down a grocery list, adding to it as she searches around the kitchen. When she's done, she sets it down on the counter and settles into one of the stools. She props her PAAD up in front of her, goes onto her grocery shopping app, and starts adding the food items to her basket. She hasn't actually  _been_  to the grocery store in…what, four years? The last time she went in, she was mobbed by an enormous group of adoring fans and had to leave before she even finished shopping.

Deplorable, really.

In any case, Finnick finds her sitting there when he walks in about fifteen minutes later. He greets her with a quick smile and asks, "What are you doing?" He peers over her shoulder curiously and raises an eyebrow. "Ordering groceries online? That explains why I never see you walking around with heavy bags." He squeezes her arm playfully as if he's making fun of her muscles.

She sniffs and gives him a snooty look over her shoulder. "Finnick darling, just be happy I'm doing this for you. I've never spent so much money on food before you walked into my life."

He winces playfully and wonders, "You calling me fat, sugar?"

She rolls her eyes and nudges him with her elbow, but he's too busy studying the items she's adding to her shopping cart to really mind.

"You know what, we should just go shopping ourselves. Get your coat on," he tells her after a moment. Sil turns to gape at him. He winks.

"What?" he asks with a laugh, "Never gone to the grocery store with the hottest man in the country before? I know it's a lot to take in. Let your excitement out."

Sil huffs and stands up, crossing her arms over her chest with a glower. "We can't just  _go_  to the grocery store. We'll be  _recognized."_

Finnick just shrugs as if this doesn't bother him at all. "So what? It won't be that busy this time of day and there's nothing in the fridge for dinner. Besides, we can make kissy faces to each other over the produce and people will go wild – they'll love it."

Sil thinks he might have gone crazy. She dawdles there on the tiled floor, staring up at him as if he's got three heads. Then she mutters with some degree of disgust, "…Kissy faces?"

Finnick bursts into laughter and pats her head, then nods solemnly and repeats, "People will love it."

It seems that nothing she can say will change his mind though. As Finnick pulls his coat back on and then turns to help her with hers, Sil asks, "Did you hit your head on the way up here? Or spent too many days out in that deplorable little boat you seem to think is so romantic? The sun must have damaged your brain cells – "

"Hey, that boat is not deplorable," he cuts in with a sniff, and pushes her to the door. "Besides, it would've been plenty romantic if you hadn't believed every word I said." He snorts and mutters, "Krackens…ha…" beneath his breath.

Sil glowers at him and slaps his hand off her shoulder. "I heard that!"

He winks down at her and murmurs, "I intended for you to hear it, sugar. Now come on, I guarantee this trip will be more romantic than the rowboat incident."

Sil rolls her eyes and grumbles, "Oh, is that what we're calling it now?"

Finnick shoves her playfully into the elevator. Their banter continues its current path by the time they get onto the streets outside. The city has dozens of grocery stores. There's one in this neighborhood that's only a block away. It's not a long distance, but Sil uses the time to hand Finnick some sunglasses and ruffle his hair up out of its customary style. He sighs but doesn't complain, even when Sil pops his collar and gives him a thorough look over.

He raises an eyebrow and dryly asks, "Do I pass the test?"

The look she sends him makes it rather clear that he has not passed any test whatsoever, and he sighs again. "Don't worry so much. Look, there's hardly anyone out on the streets. We'll be fine."

There is in fact quite a few people walking around, just not as many as normal. In any case, it doesn't set aside Sil's worries. She's glad when the crossing light turns green and they can make their way across the street though. Staying in one place too long makes her uneasy. Despite her alter ego's reputation, the real Sil doesn't exactly enjoy walking around the Capitol and getting ogled at by the strange creatures that walk past them.

The grocery store is quieter than she expects. Whether that's because of the time of day or just an abnormality, Sil doesn't know. It's been ages since she's stepped foot inside a place like this, so she has little to compare it to. Finnick takes a cart and together, they meander down the meat department. They stop now and again to add something to their pile of groceries. It doesn't take very long to build up an impressive mountain of food items, all of which Sil crosses off her list with an organized solemnity that makes Finnick smile into his collar.

When she reaches for a box of daffodil tea, Finnick's smile falls into a mocking grimace that she immediately notices. With a raised eyebrow, he cringes, "Daffodil tea? That sounds horrendous. Get the Chai instead."

She rolls her eyes at him and dryly says, "I'll have you know that this happens to do wonders for weight loss, darling." She waves it in his face as if proving a point.

Finnick pretends to vomit. "Tea in general is good for weight loss, Sil. Are you trying to poison me?"

" _You_  don't have to drink it," she retorts, and puts it in the cart. He recoils from it dramatically and the hint of a smile brightens her face at his teasing.

"Mmm…I'm getting the Chai too," he just mutters after a moment of eyeing the Daffodil tea with a disgusted expression. As he puts that in, he adds, "Besides, you don't even need to lose weight. You're like a tiny little weed."

Sil's immediate reaction is a mock outraged,  _"Excuse_  me! Surely there's a more gracious turn of phrase, my love." She simpers to herself and takes charge of the cart, pushing it down the aisle toward the dairy.

She doesn't expect Finnick's hands to suddenly envelope her own, adding his strength to hers as he walks directly behind her. In her ear, he murmurs, "I was being melodramatically romantic. Should I just serenade you in front of the cheese instead?"

She can't help it – she bursts into laughter at his suggestion and playfully says, "That would be a sight I'd not soon forget."

He laughs as well and tangled his fingers with hers atop the carriage's frame. The move feels as natural as her laughter – breathable, easy – and she hardly even registers it until they pass by a group of staring shoppers in frankly scary feather scarves. Then she remembers their strange position and tries to wrangle herself out of it.

Finnick, of course, doesn't make it easy for her. He tightens his hold and grins, pushing the cart faster to prevent her from scurrying out of her squished place between his body and the metal frame.

" _Finnick,"_  she grumbles beneath her breath, rolling her eyes. He just grins wider and murmurs, "You don't see it, but I'm making kissy faces at you right now."

She laughs again in spite of herself and then – annoyed that he can make her laugh so easily – kicks him in the shin in retribution. She doesn't really put any force into it but of course Finnick makes it into a big deal when he groans and keels over, reaching down to grab his leg and staring at her with big, betrayed eyes.

"Gracious," Sil mutters, shaking her head at him. The group of adoring Capitolites are still watching them from several aisles down, whispering amongst themselves in excitement. She sighs and decides to take advantage of it when she crouches down in front of Finnick and rests her chin on her hands.

"You're something else, you know that?" she asks, with no small amount of incredulity. Finnick's eyes turn mischievous as he smirks over at her.

"Well aware," he quips, and inches closer. "Are you planning on kissing me all better? It  _is_  your fault after all."

She makes a face at him and goes to pull away, but he grabs her arms before she can and shuffles closer. With a surreptitious glance at the other shoppers, Sil whispers, "Finnick, this is  _hardly_  the time – mm!"

He cuts her off with a kiss that's a little sudden, a little out of the blue. She'd probably be knocked to the floor if his hands weren't clutched around her upper arms, holding her in place. And even though the kiss is really more of a peck than anything else, Sil feels at once weightless and wonderful despite her own guardedness. She releases a sharp inhalation of breath and then leans into him with an eagerness that rather takes her aback – as well as Finnick, it seems, because he pauses for a second before sighing out and coming in for more.

The peck quickly turns into something much deeper. The moment Sil begins to move her lips to match his, Finnick slides his hand around the back of her head and leans in. His body tilts towards her, face sliding to the side as his mouth shifts over hers. The movement makes the kiss feel more natural, less tense and caustic. Sil begins to forget.

She forgets where they are, why they're there, who they're near. She forgets her impending marriage to the man in front of her, and the divorce papers being drawn up even now. She even forgets, for a brief moment, her own part to play in the rebellion that has been looming over her for years now.

That's when Sil rattles out a shaky gasp and pulls away, rocking back onto her heels. Her eyes slide over Finnick for a moment, taking note of his bruised lips, red from their kiss. His eyes are bright and he appears boyish, somehow, as if the eagerness she thought she felt in his previous actions has emblazoned over into the present moment.

He goes to move in again, but Sil hisses, "Finnick, we should get home."

A quick glance at the three women tells her that several more people have accumulated to watch them. When Finnick glances over his shoulder at them, the women squeal and start whispering excitedly. Sil thinks she even hears one of them dramatically sigh,  _"He looked right into my eyes!"_

With her lips pursed, Sil stands up and, hesitating only a moment, offers her hand down to Finnick. She doesn't want to make a scene by walking out on him. This little escapade of theirs will no doubt get around the Capitol, and she wants to ensure that their 'happy marriage' stays intact.

Finnick reaches up for her hands, tangling his fingers around hers. She helps him up, though he hardly needs the assistance. The moment he's back on his feet, Finnick crowds into her personal space, grasping her hands solidly as he brings one of them to his lips.

It's her left hand, Sil realizes belatedly when he goes to press a lingering kiss on the ring sitting upon her forth finger. A symbol of their engagement, and for the 'secret wedding' they told everyone they had just before the Quarter Quell. Both of which are lies. Though one of them will be true soon enough, when they have their official wedding ceremony for the Capitol's benefit. They won't be able to maneuver around the law. Once they say 'I do', they will well and truly be married.

She holds her breath as he kisses the ring, then her fingers. When he draws back, there's an unreadable expression in his eyes, but his mouth swings up into a smirk that's clearly for their audience. He drags an arm up over her shoulders and maneuvers their carriage down the aisle once more. Sil grasps onto the cart to help lead it forward, clenching down around the metal with more force than necessary. She's not sure what to think. She only knows that her heart is beating like a hummingbird and with Finnick so close at her side, every thought turns to dust to be blown away by the wind.

"You're blushing," Finnick murmurs lowly, feeling himself grin without permission.

There are so many reasons why he shouldn't be pleased by such a sight. Sil is a tornado in his life. She has caused more of a ruckus than anything else, and the things she's done, the people she has naively brought to the justice of the Capitol, should disgust him. It  _does_  – and yet there is something fluttering in his chest at the sight of her pink cheeks and dancing eyes. Something that, at this moment, he cannot bring himself to ignore.

He watches her swallow, dragging her bottom lip between her teeth. The tense way she holds herself speaks volumes about her own discomfort, but Finnick doesn't believe it's because of his affection. He might have, if it isn't for the pretty way she's blushing. But the vision she makes right now makes him think that her blush is because she is nervous. Love is a tumultuous thing, and the thought of her loving him makes the disgust he feels he should have towards her dissipate like so many unspoken words.

Is this the blindness that people speak of? That, when you fall in love, you become sightless but for the object of your heart? That all other things fall away, even things that should be important, that should make you turn around and take a step back? If it is, then Finnick has never felt it so solidly before now.

"I'm not," Sil whispers at him, her voice almost a hiss of sound that barely reaches his ears. Her lips turn down into a glower, but the redness in her cheeks only seems to darken.

Finnick bites back a smile and breathes, "You are."

She grumbles, "Gracious," and sticks her nose up into the air. He chuckles.

Every part of her, from her dramatic mannerisms to the silly way she treats those around her, should by all accounts make him run in the opposite direction. And yet…

For some reason he just cannot fathom, Finnick feels himself falling harder and harder for her every single hour.


	37. Like a chorus of notes spinning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Sil and Finnick are forced to say vows that they are not sure the have any right to say.
> 
> This marriage plot was in the works from the very beginning of the writing process. I knew I wanted them to be officially married before Finnick realized who Sil is. It's just another way that I wanted to tie the story into the Scarlet Pimpernel plot. I hope you all enjoy, and stay tuned for the wedding night chapter! I had so much fun writing that! I'll be curious to hear what you all think of this update. Please enjoy!

 

**Chapter Thirty Seven | Like a chorus of notes spinning**

" _She was pale as a statue, her hands were icy cold, her head and heart throbbed with the awful strain upon her nerves. Oh, this was cruel! Cruel! What had she done to have deserved all this? Her choice was made: had she done a vile action or one that was sublime? The recording angel, who writes in the book of gold, alone could give an answer." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

Talk of the official wedding ceremony between Finnick and Sil soon becomes the most popular topic in the Capitol. In some circles, it even surpasses the importance of the rebellion. President Snow's motives become starkly clear – he  _wants_  to make the rebellion seem less important. He wants to undercut and minimize the rebel movements and give his loyal citizens something that seems far more fascinating to obsess over. It certainly plays to the Capitolites' diluted sense of right and wrong, as well as their innate lack of discernment toward the outer districts. What is the point of worrying about what a band of miscreants do, when they can instead celebrate the lawful union of their two most beloved Victors?

As for Sil, she spends the two weeks before the wedding deep in her planning. As difficult as it is to visit Dorsey at his shop, she manages to sneak away to do just that as many times as she can during Finnick's nightly absences. She also goes to retrieve the divorce papers that Barnaby has drawn up for her, and locks them away in her jewelry box while Finnick is gone, deciding that they'll be safe there from his wayward eyes.

To her utmost relief, District 13 also contacts them later that week. They've reviewed Peeta's files and have taken into account the Nightingale's description of the state of the other Victors. Thanks to Beetee's inventiveness, the rebels have also been able to create a more secured server for which to send messages back and forth into the Capitol, so she has been able to contact Coin directly. With both the rescue as well as the wedding to plan, Sil has hardly had a break at all. It doesn't help that she's dreading both, for various reasons.

Marrying Finnick for real is not something she would have ever thought would come to pass. A tight ball of nervous energy builds up within her whenever she thinks on it. It is yet another nail that is driven into their strange relationship; another reason for them to continue with their pretenses and pretend that everything between them is a lie. And, not only that, but when Finnick leaves the Capitol, she will be alone. His strength and protection have been something she's rather gotten used to these past few weeks. Having him near is both a blessing and a curse when it comes to her role as the Nightingale, but she can't deny that when she is just herself, she yearns for his company. He seems to make everything better without even trying.

In any case, by the morning of the wedding, everything is set. Rescuing Peeta, Johanna, and the other Victors will be the responsibility of the ground team sent from 13. Sil's main duty will be to bring Finnick to the rendezvous point so as to have him join the others and get out of the Capitol. And that is the part of the plans that has constantly evaded Sil.

She cannot force Finnick to do anything. She never could before, and she's got a feeling that he won't necessarily be pleased with her forcing him to go to District 13, considering that to his knowledge, she shouldn't know anything about the place besides the usual Capitol gossip. She can't come out and explain everything either. If she tells him that she knows about the whole rebel operation and has, in fact, been in on it from the very beginning, there's no telling what Finnick's reaction would be. If nothing else, he would certainly make it difficult for the rescue team to save him.

She's contemplated several strategies as to how to maneuver Finnick to the rendezvous point, but there are too many variables in place to have a concrete plan. Still, she comes up with plenty of options – plan Bs that will be put into place should the original plan fail. She spends hours going over these secondary plans, as if she is a soldier reciting strategy upon strategy.

Still, the morning of their wedding finds her unprepared and stressed. It isn't just the pre-marriage jitters that so many brides suffer from – it's the fear that the rescue attempt will somehow fail, and all their preparation will fail along with it. She barely sleeps the night before, and when she wakes up to the sound of her alarm clock, Sil feels more drained than ever and probably looks it.

Even a hot shower doesn't make her feel rejuvenated – though she quickly realizes that Finnick is in the same boat as her, but for slightly different reasons. When she walks into the kitchen to find him whipping up some scrambled eggs, the sight of him makes her stop and stare. Sunken eyes, presumably bruised from lack of sleep, tousled hair, and skin that appears paler than his usual bronzed tan. He looks altogether drawn.

"…Good morning," she tentatively greets. Suddenly, she finds that she doesn't quite know how to act around him. Just the thought of him being her real husband by the end of the day makes her draw a blank. He sends her a smile that looks mostly exhausted, and seems to be on the same page as he studies her silently for a few long moments.

Inside, he can't quite believe that she will soon be his wife, either. It is a strange thought, being married to her. Despite the fact that he's had two weeks to come to terms with this wedding, he hasn't managed to wrap his head around it.

"Morning, sugar," he replies, and turns back to the eggs with singular focus.

That's how they spend the beginning of their day. Stricken into silence, awkward with each other, and uncomfortable at the thought that in several hours, they will be lawfully married against their will.

Their prep teams arrive at nine o'clock to get them into their makeup and outfits. The guests will be arriving at eleven, but they don't have to be there until eleven-thirty, which gives the prep team only a couple of hours to make them 'suitable for an official public appearance', as if their wedding is some kind of marketing strategy. (Which, unfortunately, it rather is.)

Sil suffers silently throughout the ordeal as her stylists twitter around her and giggle at each other. She imagines that Finnick is behaving similarly in the other room, but she has no way of knowing. Her only comfort is that Iridessa joins the fray soon after her babble of stylists start on her hair. The head stylist is a welcome sight, despite her being a Capitolite from head to toe. Sil sends her a genuine smile when she steps into the room, and Iridessa returns it just as warmly.

The Capitol is not traditional by any means of the word, but they apparently adhere to one common custom, same as any other district: the bride and groom are not allowed to see each other before the wedding. Of course, technically this rule has already been broken – her and Finnick have been tiptoeing around each other all morning – but it doesn't stop the stylists from giggling about sneaking her out of the apartment through the kitchen. It is a serious struggle not to roll her eyes, especially when they finally pull her through the apartment and start snickering as they pass the room where Finnick's been shoved into by his own stylists.

Sil huffs as she's led out of the apartment. The white gown she's wearing is extremely trendy, or at least that's what her stylists had told her as they'd laced up the corset. Full skirts billow down to the floor like heavy clouds. There are pearls sewn into the fabric, no doubt a customized addition to match her ring. Gauzy fabric is gathered at her lower back and trails down to the floor and further, creating a train that is also sewn with pearls.

She needs help getting into the car. In fact, she needs help even walking to the car. The moment Sil, in all her bridal glory, steps out onto the sidewalk, a sizable crowd of people turn and stare. They erupt into loud cheers at the sight of their resident bride, and the bodyguards Snow had sent to watch over her have to maneuver Sil to the waiting limo themselves.

Sil, despite all her annoyance and nerves, beams at the crowd and shoots too-wide grins at everyone, as if she knows these strangers personally. Cameras flash at her from all directions as reporters strive to get the perfect photograph of their Victor for the tabloids. She lifts a dainty wrist to wave her fingers at them and laughs aloud when it takes her several tries to push her heavy skirts into the limo. It is only when she's hidden by the protective shield of tinted glass that Sil lets out a breath and tips her head back.

Gracious, but this is harder than she'd thought, and it hasn't even started yet.

The plastic boning of the corset is digging into her abdomen, and she dislikes the way her gown shows off so much of her cleavage. To top it all off, the lacy sleeves that cover her arms provide little warmth against the chilly March wind, and she is shivering despite the various layers that her skirts provide.

Her stylists have certainly gone all out, from the sparkling white jeweled stilettos she's wearing to the updo they'd put her hair in – braids upon braids weaving around one another into a complicated array. Still, her own reluctant admiration of her current appearance cannot be compared to the sweeping appreciation that she feels when she at last looks upon Finnick.

Eleven thirty swings around much faster than expected, and soon Sil is being led to the doors of the Justice building. She's been waiting in a small room off the main corridor, but when the time comes, her stylists happily walk her to the front doors. Iridessa holds onto her arm for support, though Sil isn't sure if it's to keep her from tripping on her skirts or from running in the opposite direction. Apparently pre-wedding jitters is a lot more common than she'd thought.

There are crowds of Capitolites lingering outside, and when they catch sight of her in all her splendor, the murmurs escalate into cheering shouts. Sil plasters on a grin that feels fake even to her, but it is the best she can do given the circumstances. She never imagined that she'd be getting married to Finnick Odair. A year ago she would have laughed at the thought. She had hardly spoken two words to him back then, despite knowing plenty of things about the gorgeous man from District 4. And yet here she is, heels clicking on the pavement of the Justice building's stairs, heart thudding rapidly in her chest as she approaches that very man, who will become her husband within the hour.

She grips the white lace and rose bouquet tightly, takes a deep shaky breath, and sets her shoulders back. With all the adrenaline pumping through her system, she could almost convince herself that she is merely excited, but that is not the overarching emotion tumbling through her. To be honest, she's not exactly sure what she feels – only that fear seems to be the thing she clings to. It's funny, almost. In all her years of smuggling rebels from the Capitol and getting herself into more dilemmas than she can count, Sil can't remember feeling as afraid as she does right now, standing before the Justice building and knowing that Finnick is waiting behind the doors.

Her fear does a sudden disappearing act though, when she hears a familiar voice calling her name. With a jolt, Sil turns on the steps of the building, eyes cutting through the crowds that bracket the streets. They turn even more riotous at her apparent attention, and Sil feels a bit nauseous at the sight of all those waving hands and nameless faces. Until, of course, her eyes land on the familiar sight of her father.

She cannot describe the utter relief she feels when he breaks free of the crowd and goes to her, smiling tearfully as he reaches for her hands. She laughs haltingly and throws her arms around his shoulders.

"You're here?" she asks, so completely caught off guard. This whole wedding had happened so quickly and so unexpectedly that she hadn't thought that her father would be able to come. She's quite sure that he'd received an invite, though she isn't positive of it because she's barely been in charge of any of the preparations. Snow has taken care of it all, down to the last detail. To see her father here is not something she had dared to hope for.

Gemma Cornelius chuckles, draws his daughter close, and kisses her head dotingly. "Miss my own daughter's wedding? Surely not! I'm only glad I caught you before you entered the hall. It's my paternal right to give you away, dove, and I intend on exercising it."

Sil's eyes fill with tears that she blinks rapidly away. She tightens her hold of her father and dares not draw back lest he sees the exhaustion and sorrow drawn into the lines of her expression. Give her away? The thought brings her both joy and heartache. This wedding is not of her choosing. Nothing about it has gone the way she had dreamed it might, once upon a time when she had been young and innocent to the horrors that she would one day experience.

She manages to collect herself after a few moments. When she pulls back, she gives her father a little smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes, and takes his hand in hers.

"I'm so happy you've come, father," she tells him, and he smiles back. His smile also doesn't quite reach his eyes.

Gemma Cornelius is not blind, nor is he stupid. His daughter's most recent situation has not escaped his notice, nor has he disregarded the intricacies of it. There is far more at stake than tying herself to Finnick Odair, after all. Her very heart is on the line. Her very devotion. Still, he would not leave her to fend for herself on a day such as this, even it if had been of her own choosing. With a clearing of his throat, he sends her a wink and hooks her hand into the crook of his arm.

"Smile, dove," he tells her, patting her hand. "You have such a lovely smile. So like your mother…" His eyes get a far away sheen to them as he looks upon her, and she knows that he is thinking of her mother. It's been seven years since he had lost his wife, and seven years is a long time to go with only half a heart. She knows he misses her dearly.

Sil's eyes turn watery again, but she makes a determined attempt to give him a smile that is as genuine as she can make it. Gemma's frayed nerves are somewhat mollified to see it there.

"Are you ready?" Iridessa asks quietly as she comes to stand beside her, squeezing Sil's other arm reassuringly as they linger before the grand doors. Sil swallows tightly. She tries to maintain her smile, but inside she's wondering if she'll ever be ready. Marrying Finnick Odair isn't something one can prepare for, after all, especially when the marriage is built upon the very same dishonest foundations as the rest of their relationship.

Iridessa rubs her arm comfortingly. "You look lovely," she softly says, "I'm sure Finnick will think the same. Once the ceremony is over, you'll be happy for a break. Focus on that, hmm?"

A break. Sil could laugh. She will get no break, no reprieve. Tonight, the rescue team will be arriving in the Capitol, and Sil will have her work cut out for her trying to get Finnick onto that hovercraft. And if that isn't enough to send her nerves into a jumbled, erratic mess, the thought of what will occur between her and Finnick later on galls her. They won't be having the typical wedding night, of course, but the mere idea of being locked away in a small hotel room with him makes her feel shaky and unprepared.

What will they talk about? What will they feel? She doesn't want to think on it – especially not with her father so close at her side.

"Yes," Sil says after a moment, despite her inward monologue, which is beginning to verge on claustrophobic anxiety. She sends Iridessa a smile and whispers, "Thank you."

She's not sure what she's thanking her for, but Iridessa smiles as if she understands and squeezes her arm once more before she nods to the doormen. Then the doors are suddenly swinging open and, at once, a trickle of music is starting up.

Sil has been inside the Capitol's Justice building only twice before: once, during her initial Victor interviews with Caesar Flickerman, and the second time during her final stop in her Victory Tour. It's been years since she's entered the building, but she's still taken aback at how changed it is.

Gone is the intimidating weight of the Capitol's iron clad law. In its place is a whimsical scene that could have been taken straight out of Sil's own imagination. Gauzy fabric has been attached to the chairs, and a long white rug that is strewn with white rose petals has been laid out between the rows. Shafts of light beam down into the room, colored like tiny rainbows from the stained glass windows. The marble floors gleam, and there are more bouquets of flowers than Sil has ever seen in her life. She lifts her head to look upon the rest of the room, and her eyes clash headily into a sea green gaze that is trained solely upon her.

Finnick. He looks superb in his suit, crisp and freshly shaven, wearing a pale creamy tie that's tucked into his jacket. His bronze hair is in a slightly different style than the usual mussed up look, giving him a more serious appearance. He's standing tall and proud on the dais. His hands are clasped behind his back and he's turned toward her, waiting.

Sil stares at him. He is her anchor. She steps forward, grasping onto her father's arm so tightly that her fingers feel like claws.

The petals catch in the train of her skirts but she doesn't notice. The music eclipses the soft murmurs of the guests but she doesn't hear it. The beaming light makes her glitter like a star touching earth, but she doesn't know it and wouldn't care anyway – she is struck at the way Finnick watches her.

When he looks at her like that, she could almost believe that he  _wants_  to marry her.

She reaches the dais and pauses, her fingers tightly clenching the bouquet in her hands. Finnick sends her a soft smile and extends a hand. He looks so sure of himself, so strong and confident, but when she reaches to clasp her fingers around his, she feels his hand shake in her grasp, denouncing some of that surety. She hesitates for a moment, one hand tucked into Finnick's, the other still hooked around her father's arm and clutching the bouquet with tight fingers. And then, turning to look at her father, she slowly releases him.

It is a strange thing, the way her heart buckles then. She knows that this is not goodbye, but for some reason, she feels a weight like nothing she's ever experienced press itself upon her heart. Gemma pats her arm gently and lets her go, and even though she thinks she's being a little silly to think it, it rather feels like he's letting her go forever.

Finnick helps her up the steps, hands tight as they hold each other. Gemma gives her a quiet little smile before stepping to the side and finding a spot in one of the front pews. Sil's attention doesn't linger on him though. She has eyes only for Finnick, now. She couldn't look away from him even if she tried.

"You're beautiful," he tells her, and his mouth lifts up into a smile that looks different from the one she's used to seeing. There is no trace of mischief weaving through his eyes, no smirking inclination pressed to the edge of his lips. She feels herself blush. She's not sure if she can answer him without exposing herself to her own nervousness, so she just squeezes his hand and sends him a shaky smile. He smiles back and they turn to face the judge.

The music lilts to a halt. The murmurs cease. The room turns silent.

"We are gathered here today to witness the union of our two most beloved Victors," the judge begins, raising his voice to fill the marbled room. In the weave of silence, his voice is too loud, almost as if he is forcing the words into existence and making them realer than they should be.

"Finnick and Silver, today you join together in the vows of matrimony." Flowery words are said; silly descriptions of what these vows means and why they should be taken seriously. Sil thinks it's a little strange, hearing such solemn words in the Capitol, where divorces are nearly as common as marriages. Then, before she is fully prepared for it, the judge turns to Finnick and says, "Do you, Finnick, take Silver to be your wife?"

Finnick's fingers tighten around Sil's. He swallows and hoarsely says, "I do."

"Do you promise to love her, to honor her, to cherish her, to protect her, and to forsake all others and hold only unto her?"

Hotel rooms flash through his mind, but still he says, "I do."

The judge turns to Sil and her breath gets caught in her throat.

"Do you, Silver, take Finnick to be your husband?"

She can hardly breathe when she quietly says, "I do."

She would. She will. She does.

"Do you promise to love him, to honor him, to cherish him, to protect him, and to forsake all others and hold only unto him?"

"…I do," she responds, shredded with nerves. Finnick grasps her hand tighter, no doubt hoping to reassure her, but it only makes her quake even more.

The judge smiles. It appears cold in the morning light.

"Let us bring forth the rings," the judge declares, waving his hand to a young boy who is holding a small velvet box. He steps forward and opens it, revealing the very same ring that her stylists had taken from her finger only that morning. Beside it rests a matching one, slightly larger, gleaming silver.

The judge gestures to Finnick, who reaches out to take the smaller ring that he had put on Sil's finger only weeks ago, though it seems like ages now. Decades perhaps, in a dreamworld that does not seem real. He turns to Sil and releases their fingers, instead taking her other hand and bringing it to his chest. Her fingertips brush against the silk of his tie.

She watches as he takes a deep breath and looks into her eyes, head bowed as he hovers over her. His grip on her left hand is solid, but she still feels weightless, as if she is floating.

"Silver," Finnick says, pausing on the last syllable. He wavers for only a moment before plunging back in and carefully reciting the words that they have both poured over for the last two weeks. The words that, in their own ways, have both haunted them.

"I take you to be my lawfully wedded wife. Before these witnesses, I vow to love you – " his voice shudders, " – and care for you, as long as we both shall live. I take you with all your faults and strengths, and I offer myself to you with all my faults and strengths. I will strengthen you and love you…" Then he pauses once more before taking another breath and murmuring, "Until death takes me."

She stares at him as he slides the ring onto her finger. It feels different than before, wearing this ring. It feels more weighted, more important. Yet it also feels familiar, and a part of her is happy to feel it on her finger again. Another part of her just wants to cry.

Finnick squeezes her fingertips in his and gives her a calm smile. She swallows and turns to take the larger ring from the velvet casing. This is it. Once she says her vows, they will truly be married. The point of no return.

Taking a shaky breath, Sil twists their hands and grasps his left one, entwining their fingers together. He watches her closely as she says, "Finnick – " and she nearly cringes when his name comes out hoarse and stilted. The smile he sends her only makes her feel a little better, and she clears her throat a bit before repeating the very same words he had just said.

"Finnick," she says again, "I take you to be my lawfully wedded husband. Before these witnesses, I vow to love you and care for you as long as we both shall live. I take you with all your faults and strengths, as I offer myself to you with all my faults and strengths. I will strengthen you and love you until death takes me."

Her breath whooshes out of her as she finishes. She thinks she's rushed through the words a bit, but it cannot be helped. She already feels faint and powerless, and when she slides the ring onto his forth finger, she feels even more so.

It is done.

The judge smiles wider and raises his hands, drawing the attention to himself. Finnick hooks his arm around Sil's and clasps their hands together. She leans against him a bit, not fully trusting her own legs, which feel shaky and wobbly. The judge takes a moment to pluck a document from the lectern. When he sets it on top of the wooden surface, they see the words 'Marriage License' written on it in gleaming letters. He places an ink pad next to it and then turns to address the room.

"Finnick and Silver," the judge begins, "Just as two very different threads woven in opposite directions can form a beautiful tapestry, so can your two lives merge together to form a beautiful marriage. Love should be the core of your marriage. It is the reason you are here. But it will also take trust, to know in your hearts that you want the best for each other. It will take dedication, to stay open to one another. It will take faith, to be willing to go forward into tomorrow, never knowing what tomorrow will bring. In addition, it will take commitment, to hold true to the journey you both now pledge to share together."

He pauses, then continues, "I now invite you to sign your names to this marriage license, so that this ceremony may be legalized."

Finnick glances over at Sil. He pauses for a moment, takes a breath, and guides her forward to the lectern. The judge hands Finnick a pen first, which he uses to scratch his name on one of the lines. Then, pushing the ink pad forward, Finnick presses his thumb into the ink and hesitates only a moment before laying it against the paper. When he pulls away, his thumbprint is there beside his name, and there is no going back.

The judge hands him a cloth to wipe away the ink as Sil takes the pen. She signs her name in loopy cursive, and repeats Finnick's actions as quickly as she can. She has no wish to drag this out. When she has wiped the ink away too, her and Finnick step back again and the judge raises his hands. Sil can only stare at the document, unable to look away from their names. She thinks of the divorce papers that she had drawn up only days before, and her stomach clenches.

"In so much as the two of you have agreed to live together in matrimony and have promised your love to each other by these vows, I now declare you husband and wife." The judge glances to Finnick and says, "You may kiss your bride."

The words Sil has just heard has caused a numbness to spread through her, for they are declarations that she is doubtful Finnick feels for her. Love? She does not even know if it exists between them. And trust, and dedication, and commitment – those are words that feel too heavy for their shaky relationship. Do they have any right to even be uttered?

But Finnick says nothing and only faces her, reaching out to lift her chin up. He catches her eye with a gaze that makes her breath flutter unevenly in her chest. She suddenly cannot find it in her to wonder at those questions. Not when Finnick slowly lowers his mouth to hers and kisses her for the first time as her lawful husband.

Like the ring on her finger, his kiss also feels different somehow. Not in some spectacular, iridescent way, but there is something changed in the softness behind it. His mouth lingers on hers for only a brief moment before he pulls away, and yet that moment feels as if it will be forever imprinted into her memory, and she somehow doubts that she will ever forget it.

His fingertips idle over her cheekbone as the crowd behind them begins to clap and cheer. Congratulations are murmured. The music once again starts up. The judge nods to them and gestures to the doors, and Finnick takes a breath and tucks her into his side.

"Shall we?" he asks, mouth quirked up as he glances down at her. Sil grips him tightly and nods, scooping her skirt up to avoid tripping on it as they make their way down the stairs.

Her heart feels oddly joyous, until her eyes suddenly slide over to President Snow, who is sitting with Felix at his side in the front row. Her nerves from before must have clouded her sight, for she had not noticed him. It isn't surprising to see him there, though, and the pleased, cold smile he sends her on her way out makes her clutch at Finnick harder. She doesn't look at Felix at all. She doesn't want the sight of him to make her nerves even worse. 

It is the calm sight of her father's face that sets her heart at ease. He sends her a soft smile as she passes him, and though she longs to run back into his arms, she holds herself back. She wonders when she will see him again. Her father does not enjoy swanky parties or ritzy affairs. He will no doubt be getting on a train for District 1 after the ceremony. He quietly loathes the Capitol. It is only a reminder of what happened to Sil's mother, so long ago. The way in which his wife had been ripped from him.

She hopes she sees him again soon, but she dares not hope too much for such a thing, and so Sil just sends him a small smile instead, and drinks in the sight of him as if she's trying to memorize his face. Then, turning back to Finnick, she murmurs, "There's a big crowd outside." The warning is most likely needless; surely he knows it already.

Still, Finnick snorts and mutters sarcastically, "Of course there is. They're more excited about our wedding than  _we_  are."

But the way he says it almost sounds as if he  _is_  excited, just a bit. The confusion that spirals over Sil is momentary, though. She's got more important things to think about for now. Like, for instance, facing the massive crowd that begins chanting happily the moment the doors of the Justice building open up.

Her only comfort is the fact that Finnick is a solid presence by her side. His arm is tucked around her waist, and he raises his other hand to wave to the crowd as they head down the steps to the limo that is pulled up to the curb. Flower petals are tossed into the air – whites and reds and pinks. As they flutter down, they look like blood against the concrete. It makes her feel claustrophobic, and Sil is more than happy when they reach the car.

The door is pulled open for them by their driver. Finnick helps Sil inside, battling with the heavy skirts to avoid getting them stuck in the door when it closes. When he slides into the seat beside her, he sighs dramatically and flicks at the skirts with a smirk.

"That's a heavy dress, sugar," he jokes, and Sil quips a smile. Her hands flutter over her, not knowing where to go, until Finnick solves the issue when he drags them into his own.

"You look gorgeous, though," he adds, squeezing her fingers in his. Her smile returns, slightly more genuine than before. He notices and whispers, "That's better," raising a hand to smooth his fingertips over her hairline. "Cheer up. The worst is over."

Sil gives him a raised eyebrow and reminds him, "There's still the reception."

He shrugs. "True, but we won't have to stay for the whole thing."

She hums but doesn't respond, not knowing what to say. The car pulls out onto the street, which has been sectioned off from the crowd so as to allow their exit. She hopes he is right, and they won't have to linger at the reception for too long. She's not sure how much longer she can last, to be honest.

She looks out the window as silence falls between them, and tries to ignore the heavy weight of the ring on her finger, which symbolizes a commitment she doesn't think she deserves.


	38. One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Finnick and Sil have their wedding night, minus all the normal actions newlyweds would usually partake in.
> 
> The next time Finnick and Sil are together in the same room, Finnick won't be blind to Sil's identity any longer. This chapter basically exists because I wanted to write one more scene between them before everything goes to shit. On that note, enjoy! Lol

 

**Chapter Thirty Eight | One**

" _Oh! Think! Think! Think! Of what she should do. The minutes flew on; in this awful stillness she could not tell how fast or how slowly; she heard nothing, she saw nothing; she did not feel the sweet-smelling autumn air, scented with the briny odor of the sea, she no longer heard the murmur of the waves, the occasional rattling of a pebble, as it rolled down some steep incline." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

By the time four o'clock come around, Finnick and Sil finally arrive at their hotel, where they will be staying for three days. Or, well, where Sil will be staying, at least.

The Pantheon Hotel is true to its name – expensive and historic to the primary district of Panem. It's probably been around since the Capitol was a fledging city in the pre-war era. Built around pillars of carved stone that arch up into the ceilings of the main lobby, the hotel is a sight to behold. One would think that it's too much of a landmark for them to enter without notice, but the fact that the Pantheon is so famous is the main reason Sil booked a room there. Their guest's discretion is something they take very seriously. The other reason she wanted to come to this hotel in particular is because it's only a few streets down from the Capitol prison, where the other Victors are being kept.

Their room is lavish and located on the top floor of the building, secreted away from the other suites. The main room is more of a sitting room than anything else, with armchairs and sofas artfully strewn here and there around the space. Adjacent to it is a small balcony that overlooks an unassuming side street. Its stone railing seems to match the décor of the rest of the suite, which has more of a vintage, pre-war vibe to it.

"Nice place," Finnick comments as he drags their suitcases into the room. He shuts the door behind him and the telltale 'click' of the lock sliding into place seems to reverberate through the entire area.

Sil shuffles forward, intent on exploring the suite to distract herself from the fact that she is alone with Finnick, the man she has just married.

Gracious, but that is rather a lot to take in.

Walking through a doorless archway into the next room, Sil turns in a full circle, sweeping her eyes briefly over the large bed and focusing on everything else. She'd rather not think about the bed right now. She knows very well that they won't be doing anything in it, but it's still a bit frightening to look upon it, as if it is a hulking symbol of what a wedding night should bring.

Finnick follows her inside and crosses his arms, looking speculative. His eyes also take the room in, but unlike her, they don't shirk away from the bed. Instead, Finnick heads right to it without even a shred of hesitation.

"It's pretty comfortable," he informs her as he drops down onto the mattress, looking up at the velvet bedcurtains that drape over the four posters. He turns his head to catch her eye and gives her a winking smirk that makes her face heat up. He's not making this easy for her, clearly.

When she doesn't respond (instead opting to stick her nose in the air and turn to examine the furniture with more curiosity than she actually feels), Finnick snorts.

"Come on, Sil, don't be like that. We  _are_  married now," he chuckles, sweeping his hands behind his head as he shifts to get comfortable. After a moment he adds, "Plus we've been living together for the last few weeks."

She rolls her eyes. Living together as a forced couple and living together as forced spouses are quite different things. Sort of. Well in any case, she doesn't want to talk about their marriage duties. The phrase in and of itself is fairly archaic anyhow.

When she still doesn't respond, Finnick sighs and rolls over, propping himself up on his elbow and looking over at her. She's staring out of the window with a strange look on her face. Her expression is almost bitter, almost sad, and definitely not hopeful. He can't entirely blame her. Marriage hadn't seemed like a big deal before the Games, when he'd told the Capitol that they'd had a secret ceremony at the last minute. But now…well, now it's a different story, and it is no longer secret and no longer a lie to appease the masses. He is truly married to her now. Her husband. And Sil is his wife. It's legal and binding.

Yet for some reason it doesn't seem as terrible as it had that morning. Now that the wedding is over and done with, the world almost seems peaceful. A part of him is happy for it. Now, he has a real reason to want to protect her from the coming rebellion, for what husband would abandon his wife to the whims of war?

He sighs, allowing his eyes to trail over her figure. Her heavy skirts have been replaced by a much gauzier fabric which shucks around her legs in soft curtains and hits the floor like little clouds. There must have been some sort of contraption in the hem of the corset, because when she had reappeared at the reception hall, she had been transformed. It must be far easier to walk around in compared to the weighted drape of her wedding gown.

The corset still remains, studded with pearls sewn into the hems. They match the pearl that she still wears on her finger, though now it represents more than a mere false engagement that can easily be broken off. No, now there is a permanence to that symbol; a certain heaviness that fate's own hand has played a role in.

He studies her almost cautiously. She looks like an image of grace, standing in the greying light of the early setting sun.

"You're staring," Sil suddenly says, and turns her face to his with a raised brow. Finnick grins boyishly.

"Just admiring my new wife," he quips. Her face falls just a tiny bit and he inwardly cringes. He supposes it's still a bit early to joke about their new status – though he also wonders if he is even joking at all. Sil isn't aware of his inner turmoil though. She's swept up in a turmoil of her own.

With a sigh, Finnick rolls up into a sitting position and then stands, brushing out the wrinkles in his dress slacks before going to join her at the window. She doesn't expect him to wrap his arms around her from behind, nor does she expect for his embrace to feel quite so…warm.

"It'll be alright," he tells her softly. The words are pressed into the silken tresses of her hair, which smells faintly of the perfume she favors. Night dream, was it? He can't remember, but the scent is both alluring and comforting, and he tightens his grip around her waist.

Her hands flutter up to lay flat against his. Their fingers entwine of their own accord. She wonders when it had become so normal and so easy to be in such an intimate position.

"Will it?" she asks, tipping her head to look at him. Finnick smiles at her and leans in to kiss her cheek with a sudden burst of affection. She's surprised at the move, surprised at the way she seems to crave it, and at the way she'd like nothing more than to huddle closer to him and remain forever in the safety of his arms.

The coming weeks will be dreadful without him. The realization of this comes crashing into her like a wave, and her fingers tighten around his.

"Yes," he says firmly, unaware of her thoughts. He presses his cheek to her forehead and sighs. "I'll take care of you. I vowed I would."

Vows. She wonders just how far they extend.

"…But do you even want to?" she asks slowly. The question comes unbidden to her lips. She hadn't meant to ask it, but she's glad she had. It's a question she'd very much like an answer to.

He falls silent for a moment. She waits with baited breath for his answer. And then –

"I do," he whispers, and she cracks a small smile because he's clearly taking his earlier vow and turning it into a new direction. A more honest one.

He chuckles and pulls away, but keeps his hand in hers as he pulls her with him.

"Come on, let's get comfortable. New married couples usually spend their wedding night bonding, don't they? Should we tell each other secrets?" he asks with a wink, and she smiles wider.

"I'm sure that's not quite the type of  _bonding_  husbands and wives usually partake in on their wedding night," she drawls, but doesn't argue when Finnick loosens his tie and shucks off his jacket.

"Do you have something to change into?" he asks, glancing at her dress with a critical eye. "As beautiful as you look, that corset can't be comfortable."

Sil gives him a cringing look and complains, "Gracious. It's been digging into my stomach for hours now." Then she sniffs and adds, "Of course it's a small price to pay for looking fashionable, I suppose. Do you like my gown? It's a Linault St. Claire."

Finnick's expression makes her burst into laughter, and she raises a hand to her mouth to mock-gasp, "My favorite designer, Finnick darling! How could you possibly forget?"

He rolls his eyes at her. "I don't care who made it, only that you wore it. And I do like it, by the way. When you stepped into the hall, you glittered like diamonds. The pearls were a nice touch."

Sil doesn't expect the sincerity of his words. She looks at him for a moment, taken aback at his honesty. He seems to know what she's thinking because after a moment he smirks and says, "What, you think I'm completely blind?"

With a small laugh, Sil shakes her head. "No, I certainly don't. You looked quite handsome as well. Though I do have to admit that I like your hair a bit less styled."

She glances up at his now mussed up hair and grins. After the ceremony, Finnick had run his hands through it to push it back to how it normally falls, much to her amusement. He clearly hadn't liked the formal style either.

"Mmm…you and me both, sugar," he says, and starts unbuttoning his shirt.

She stares.

"What are you doing?" she asks, feeling a bit flushed as she watches him drag the fabric off. Glorious bronzed skin on full display, the air in the room suddenly feels like it's closing in on her.

He snorts at her expression. "Relax. I'm not trying to seduce you. We can change in front of each other now that we're married, right?" He winks for good measure and Sil glowers at his teasing.

"I'm changing in the bathroom," she says shrilly, and powerwalks to her suitcase.

Behind her, Finnick laughs and watches her go, amused at her prudishness. Still, he doesn't complain, and changes into a pair of pajama pants and a soft white Henley tee before flopping back onto the bed to wait for her. It feels disconcerting in a way, especially when his brain tyrannically whispers that he's not waiting for just anyone – he's waiting for his  _wife_.

Trying to think about something –  _anything –_  else, Finnick moves to sit against the pillows, throwing back the blankets and pulling them over his legs. He leans back with his hands behind his head and closes his eyes, hoping that he looks more casual than he feels. He's been in a similar position too many times to count, but all those other women had been clients that hadn't meant anything to him. Sil is not a client, and she means more to him than he ever thought she would.

She finds him there when she returns from the bathroom looking fresh faced and wearing a pair of plaid pajama pants and a soft button down. She'd washed the makeup from her face and had unraveled the braids in her hair, letting her fancy updo hang down into her usual waves. Her hair is wilder than usual after having it braided for hours at a time, and Finnick thinks she looks utterly enchanting.

"You look comfortable," Sil drawls, because frankly she's not sure what else to say. Seeing him waiting for her in the bed induces emotions within her that takes her breath away. Her heart thuds in her chest and she tries to appear as if she's not completely taken in by him. She wonders if she succeeds.

Finnick sends her a smirk and lifts the covers in a clear invitation. She hesitates, but doesn't deny him, and slips beneath the covers like a deer slowly creeping toward an unseen danger. He bites back a smile at the sight she makes and slides an arm around her shoulders, dragging her into his side with a force that she's not expecting. Because she's not anticipating it, Sil ends up flying forward into his chest with a gasp.

She stills against him, a chunk of hair in her mouth and her eyes wide as she looks up into his face. "…Gracious," is all she mutters.

The sight of her sends him into a laughing fit that she soon joins in.

"So," he says once their laughter has died down and Sil has allowed herself to rest more comfortably against him. "…It's not even five o'clock yet. What should we do?" He wags his eyebrows at her jokingly and she elbows him.

"You said you'd tell me all your dirty secrets," she responds lightly, feeling a bit out of her depth in his arms. This isn't exactly how she'd expected the evening to go, after all. She rather thought they'd separate into different rooms and try their hardest to ignore each other, not get into the same bed and joke around and play pretend.

Finnick huffs, "That goes for the both of us, sugar. Secrets are what I excel at, but you have to match them."

She raises her eyebrows at him. This is a dangerous game he's playing. She's got too many secrets, built one on top of the other. But – high from the warmth of his arms and the love she feels threading through her body, Sil sighs and agrees.

"Yes, alright. Though my life is rather boring, I'm afraid," she shrugs innocently, inwardly smirking. "I doubt any of my secrets will be of much interest to you."

Finnick hums thoughtfully and says, "I'll be the judge of that. Now let's see…did you know that Snow has sores in his mouth from drinking poison, when he was trying to get the presidency? That's why he's partial to roses - he thinks they hide the scent of blood."

Sil makes a disinterested grunt and responds dully, "Every Victor knows that, Finnick darling. It's hardly a secret."

Finnick rolls his eyes at her. "Okay fine. Then it'll be easy for you to match it with your own secret, won't it?"

She taps her chin and thinks. Then says, "Mmm…I don't actually spend as much money at Gigi's as you think I do. How's that?"

He looks down at her with a ridiculous expression on his face and she starts laughing. "What?" she asks, "I told you before, I don't have very many secrets."

He gives her a glower and mutters, "I don't even want to know how much money you spend there. You practically bought the whole store when we went there together before the Games."

She purses her lips and chuckles.

"Clearly I have to drag your secrets out of you. I know you have more of them than you'd like to admit," he sighs, and then slowly says, "…When I was a boy, I used to be completely in love with Annie Cresta."

Sil pauses. She hadn't expected  _that_  to come out of his mouth. She hesitates only a moment before propping herself up to look at him.

"You're not still in love with her, are you?" she asks, demands, almost. Her mind suddenly buzzes back to the dinner party they'd had back in District 4 all those months ago. How he and Annie seemed to know each other so well. They were so comfortable around one another. She remembers hearing rumors about them and a relationship they'd had before, but she hadn't been very interested in Finnick Odair back then, and she can't quite recall what said rumors entailed.

Finnick, for his part, looks a bit taken aback by the insistence in her eyes. If she hadn't expected his admission, then he certainly doesn't expect the adamant demand of her question. Warmth spreads through him at the sight of her looking at him like that, and he quips a small smile.

"Why, are you jealous?" he murmurs, smoothing his hand over her hair. Sil glowers at him and he laughs, "No, I'm not still in love with her. That was a long time ago. We're good friends now, and that's all we'll ever be. I'm a married man, you know."

She stares at him, then feels at once foolish for her question and folds herself back against him, burying her face against his chest. Finnick grins and draws her closer, encircling his arms around her firmly. He plays with a strand of her white blond hair idly.

"Your turn," he tells her, mostly to spare her own embarrassment. He's got a feeling she's a little chagrined at having asked him that with such adamancy. He'll let her off the hook for now, because he's feeling too happy that she seems to care so much if he likes another woman. He won't tell her he's got eyes only for her, despite some of her more questionable morals and Capitolite sensibilities. For some reason, he feels as if now isn't the time for those heartfelt confessions.

Sil grumbles incoherently into his chest and sighs. "I haven't actually gotten drunk once since becoming a Victor."

His hand in her hair stills curiously. "…I've seen you drunk a number of times, Sil. You're supposed to tell me a secret based on a  _truth."_

She harrumphs and mutters, "Just because you  _thought_  I was drunk doesn't mean I was  _actually_  drunk. I don't go to those parties because I want to. I go to them because Snow makes me."

He looks down at the top of her head with a strange expression on his face, though she doesn't see because she's playing with a button on his shirt, twisting it around her fingers idly.

A thought hits him then – a memory really. He frowns and wonders, "You know, I just remembered that time you stayed the night at my apartment. You said you were drugged but never told me why."

She stiffens a little in his arms and he knows he's stumbled onto a secret that's worth hearing. He slides his fingers through her hair and murmurs, "Would you tell me now?"

She doesn't answer right away, but after a moment of silence, Sil whispers, "If you tell me something in return."

He thinks for a moment, ponders what she'd possibly want to know, before finally saying, "Okay, sounds fair. What do you want to know?"

She glances up at him and catches his eye, opens her mouth, and then quietly asks, "Tell me why you're a part of the rebellion."

His entire body turns tense in a matter of moments, and he stares down at her like a deer caught in the headlights. How did she…? His expression turns into a blank canvas and Sil sighs.

"Honestly, Finnick," she complains, making sure to add a layer of whining to her voice. She wants to sound more childish, more naïve. She doesn't want him to read too far into her knowledge, and so she mumbles, "It's hardly a shock, you know. I'm sure every Victor is somehow in on it. Even Beetee had some sort of plan in the arena, didn't he? So you must have, too."

He purses his lips and looks away from her. She sighs and adds, "I know you don't trust me after what you've heard, but I would never…I mean, I'd never say anything to  _anyone_  about it. You mean far too much to me."

The honesty in her words and in her eyes makes him deflate. She hit the nail right on the head. He  _had_  been thinking about the way she has traded the names of rebels to President Snow, and she had clearly seen where his thoughts had fled.

"…You're more perceptive than people give you credit for, Sil," he mutters, and she hums happily, as if he's just given her the nicest compliment in the world.

"Thank you," she chirps, but the seriousness doesn't leave her gaze. She truly does want to know. Why  _had_  he agreed to join the rebellion? Out of all the Victors, Finnick has more reason than most to join such an organization, but is his desire to change his own circumstances the only reason? Being so deep into the going ons of District 13 herself, Sil finds herself craving to understand his perspective.

He glances at her and sighs. "Why wouldn't I join? If I can help make the world a better place, if I can stop the Hunger Games from happening in the future – from stealing the lives of more children – wouldn't it make sense that I do whatever I can to help?"

He feels bare beneath her gaze, like  _she's_  the one unraveling all his secrets and not the other way around. He's not used to being in such a position. It's frightening, and yet somehow fulfilling in a way he cannot explain.

"Even at the cost of your life?" she whispers, placing her hand on his heart.

He immediately reaches up to grasp her fingers and responds firmly, "Yes. And now – now that we're married, it's even more important."

She stares at him in confusion and he quips a tiny smile that feels a little strained. "…I want the world we live in to be a better place. I want to be able to make a good life for you, even if our marriage doesn't have the same foundations as most do."

Her breath whooshes out of her body. His eyes are sincere. Does he really want to make the most of their circumstances? Even when he knows that war is coming and that they could very well dissolve their marriage once it's all over – go their separate ways without anyone forcing them together? She feels her eyes water a little bit and he smiles.

"Does that answer your question?" he asks softly. Sil feels herself nod, and Finnick chuckles lightly. "Good. Now I believe you were finally going to tell me why you were drugged that night."

The reminder breaks apart the little haven of peace and hope that had settled over her shoulders. Sil lets out a breath and turns her eyes away from his, returning his fingers to the buttons of his shirt to give her something to do. This is a secret she knows he won't like, and she herself won't like reliving it either, even just through words.

"Alright," she says quietly. "…In the past, Felix has…drugged my drinks before. He'd take me to his apartment, or to a hotel room and…well, I hardly think I need to explain it all. It's not so – "

"He drugged you and forced himself on you?" Finnick suddenly asks, and to her surprise, his voice is hard with a fury she finds almost out of place in the smooth folds of his usual tone. Surely he can't be so shocked. He must have known that her explanation would have a darker light to it. And besides, he knows Felix well enough by now to know what sort of man he is.

Sil glances up at him and nods slowly.

He clenches his jaw, wraps his arms around her, and pulls her tightly to his chest. She lets him without struggle, not knowing if he's trying to comfort her, or trying to comfort himself.

Burying his face into her hair, Finnick mutters, "Is this a regular occurrence?"

She threads her fingers into his hair and whispers, "It hasn't happened since we've started our little relationship."

She makes no mention as to how often it had occurred before then, but Finnick doesn't seem to notice. He sighs against her and nods, seemingly content with her answer despite the stiffness still overtaking his shoulders.

"…Why didn't you tell me before?" he asks after a moment of silence. She pauses and traces the back of his neck with her fingertips.

"It hardly compares to the horror you're forced to go through every night," she sighs. "And besides, Felix hasn't pulled a stunt like that in a while."

He pulls back, takes her face in his hands, and sternly says, "You tell me if this ever happens again. He can't just get away with something like that without consequences."

She swallows. What's the point of making a promise like that when, if the plan goes the way it's supposed to, Finnick will be out of her life come morning? It doesn't matter if they'll ever see each other again, or even how they really feel about each other. If he's not around to protect her, then why bother promising him this?

But – he doesn't know that. He doesn't know that he'll be on a plane to District 13 in a matter of hours. He doesn't know that, if the plans holds, Annie Cresta will be on that very same hovercraft, erasing all the threats that Snow had given him regarding her and the Nightingale. She wonders, if he did know, would he have the same reaction as he does now? Would he even want to leave?

Such thoughts are dangerous, and Sil only nods. She cannot fall prey to wondering such things. It will only hurt that much more when he is gone.

"Okay," she murmurs, and he sags in relief and pulls her back against him.

She thinks it's strange that he is so willing to initiate these embraces, though she wouldn't complain even if she wanted to. It feels heavenly being in his arms, feeling the safety of him envelope her. She never wants to pull away. Never wants morning to come.

But it will, and she has to be ready for it. It's almost amusing, the way he is so fixated on her complicated past with Felix. It almost makes her hesitate as she reaches for the bottle of wine she'd ordered for the night, under the pretense that it might loosen them up and make them feel better about their new marriage. But it's just that: a pretense. It's also only wine, for now.

She's thought long and hard about how to get Finnick from their hotel room to the rendezvous point, and this was what she'd come up with. Mr. Dorsey had given her a few ideas as to what she might mix into his drink to make it easier to get him in place, but that will come later, when he's tipsy enough not to question why he wine seems stronger and tastes differently. And then, of course, there's Tommy's part to play in all this, but that will come later as well.

It suddenly feels a bit…disparaging, doing this to him right after a conversation about how she herself had been drugged. She feels a twinge of guilt as she lifts the wine bottle and forces a light, airy smile onto her face.

"I think we could use a drink after that, don't you?" Sil suggests. Finnick leans back on the pillows and hums his agreement, watching closely as she reaches for two glasses. She hands him one and fills it halfway up before doing the same for her own and placing the bottle back onto the nightstand.

"I thought you liked white wine?" he questions as she comes back to settle against his chest. His arm returns to its place around her shoulders as naturally as if they have snuggled like this for years.

Sil shrugs. "Red is stronger. I thought we'd need it." She raises an eyebrow at him and he muffles a laugh, tipping the rim of his glass against hers before drawing it to his lips.

"Very perceptive," he murmurs once he's swallowed, referring to his words from before. Sil chuckles.

"You know," she says after a moment. "It wasn't so bad. Marrying you, I mean."

Finnick laughs and nudges her playfully. "Marrying me is only every woman's dream. Of course it wasn't so bad."

She glowers at him and mutters, "You were  _supposed_  to say, 'it wasn't so bad marrying you either, Sil'." She huffs.

He chuckles. "I need a few more drinks before I'm  _that_  honest." Then he pauses and murmurs, "But I suppose it wasn't so bad. There are worse ways to spend the night."

As if the words remind her, Sil glances over to the clock and is shocked to see that a whole hour has passed them by. Finnick follows her eyes and smiles, knowing what she's thinking immediately. He drains his wine and holds it out for more in a silent order. She gives him a dry look but doesn't argue. She's glad that he seems to want to drink. She'd rather not force it down his throat. He's making this nice and easy for her, she thinks.

"Should we play a drinking game?" she asks, and smirks mischievously up at him. He raises an eyebrow.

"I thought you said you never get drunk," he slowly muses, though he doesn't look entirely against the idea.

Sil shrugs daintily. "I have a high tolerance. Should we or not?"

He hums thoughtfully and says, "Okay…what did you have in mind?"

She beams and chirps, "Twenty questions! I play it all the time at my parties. I ask you something, and you have to answer it or take two big sips of wine."

He snorts and mutters, "That's not a very interesting game. How about we change it up? Truth or dare?"

It's her turn to raise her eyebrow as she wonders, "Truth or dare? Alright, but if you refuse to take part in the dare, you have to drink an entire glass of wine in retribution."

He purses his lips to hide a smile and mumbles, "It sounds like you've got some scary dares up your sleeve."

Sil just lifts her eyebrows knowingly and hums.

"I'll go first," she says, sitting up into a cross legged position and nursing her wine glass between her legs. Finnick watches her from his perch against the pillows and gestures for her to go on.

"Let's see…" she trails off, scrunching her nose in a way he finds utterly adorable. As always, she doesn't seem to realize what she does to him, because she totally misses the flash of reverent admiration that briefly shoots through his gaze.

She straightens up and says, "Okay. Truth or dare? I've got some good ideas."

He looks doubtful, but drawls, "Dare," anyway. No point starting the game without a bold move, right?

Sil cackles and he wonders if he should be worried. He's never heard such a mischievous laugh leave her lips. He raises an eyebrow.

"I dare you to walk onto the balcony and recite Romeo and Juliet."

He gapes at her, then smugly says, "I haven't  _memorized_  Romeo and Juliet. Have you?" The added on question is a tiny bit reluctant because he suddenly remembers that she's been schooled in the classics. Sil smirks widely.

"Shall I give you the lines?" she questions, looking downright impish as she leans an elbow onto her knee and props her chin in her hand. She blinks at him.

(He's a bit taken with the sight of those mischievous eyes, that smirking laugh, the way her entire face changes from bashful naivety to intriguing enchantment.)

He immediately sighs and says, "Fine. I accept." He's never been one to shirk away from dares, after all. He puts his wine glass on the side table and stands up.

Sil laughs and follows him, grabbing a jacket and passing it to him. They don't want anyone to know they're here in this particular hotel, but then luckily the balcony is facing a nondescript, empty side street where there's really no one around to place them. Of course it makes for a rather poor dare given the circumstances, but Finnick doesn't seem to care for the lack of audience. As always, he puts his all into it.

She recites the phrases from memory – which he's just a little impressed with – and Finnick repeats them in a dramatic voice as he leans over the balcony, playing the rather feminine part of Juliet so well that Sil is breathless with laughter by the end of it.

He joins in as he makes his way back to her, catches onto her waist, and whispers, still dramatic, "Truth or dare, my lady?"

And Sil, still laughing, says, "Dare, I suppose. I shan't have you one-upping me."

Finnick's smile turns predatory. "Hmm…I dare you to make a prank call."

Her face turns horrified. "A prank call? I couldn't. I – " the expectant look on his face makes her glower and grudgingly mutter, "Fine. I will."

"You've never done this before, have you?" he asks as he watches her walk over to the phone resting on a table against the drawn curtain of the far window. Sil huffs and doesn't answer, which is really all the answer he needs. His amusement only grows when she picks up the phone, dials a random number, and starts rattling on about some kind of obviously made up epidemic that's apparently running rampant around the Capitol and what preventative actions one must do to avoid the disease.

He has to admit, she comes up with some entertaining prevention methods on the spot.

Then she turns to him and asks, "Truth or dare, my love?"

He tilts his head and answers, "Truth."

"…Who taught you how to dance?" she asks. The question makes him smile in nostalgia.

"My mother," he answers, and starts telling her about how his family used to attend the monthly festivities in District 4, where the old fishermen would come with their fiddles and the townsfolk would spin around in the main square. He fondly remembers it as some of the best times of his life. Sil watches his face happily and wonders to herself if they still do those monthly dances now that there's a rebellion brewing, and if perhaps she might ever get to go to one with him, should she ever be so lucky.

When his story is complete, he playfully turns to her as he sits down on the edge of the mattress, and drawls, "Your turn."

In wake of his previous dare, Sil decides to go with truth this time around. Finnick's question is immediate, as if he's been waiting to ask all night.

"Your middle name. Tell me," he says, smirking at her. Sil raises her eyebrows at him.

"Gracious, I told you before, I only tell lovers my middle name," she complains, leaning back in the chair that she has yet to remove herself from.

Finnick just shrugs and snarks, "We're basically lovers at this point. You are technically my wife, after all."

The reminder makes her stomach do a little flip. Of excitement or nervousness, Sil doesn't know. She never seems to know with Finnick.

Grumbling to herself, Sil gives in and tells him, "It's Aurelius."

Finnick tilts his head and repeats it, testing the sound of it out on his tongue. Then he puts it all together, murmuring, "Silver Aurelius Lamprey Cornelius. It doesn't sound very District 1."

At this, Sil laughs, "On the contrary, darling! Aurelius means golden. It's an old family name from my district."

The information makes Finnick raise both eyebrows dryly. "Your parents named you after Silver and Gold? Seriously?"

Sil gives him a haughty look and  _humphs_. "I told you – it's a family name. It comes from my mother. And besides, the Cornelius family traditionally names their children after precious stones. It's part of the trade."

He gives her a look. "The  _trade?"_  he questions, voice still sardonic.

Sil rolls her eyes at him. "The jewelry trade, my love. My family has always been involved in it, even before the War."

Finnick hums and mutters, "Don't know why I even ask…"

Sil just throws a pillow at him and laughs when it hits him right in the face. He's clearly not expecting it and glowers at her.

They battle back and forth for a while. Whenever he chooses 'dare', Sil tries to think of things that are so ridiculous that he'd have no choice but to drink a full glass of wine. By the time another hour passes, she'd only managed it once, when she had dared him to streak through the lobby shouting like a madman. To that, Finnick had muttered something about how too many Capitolites have seen him naked already and decided that the wine was a better option. Sil hadn't argued.

Eventually they return to the bed. The bottle of wine nearly empty, Sil thinks they've probably had at least three glasses each, and she is definitely starting to feel it. Finnick too, it seems, for he is becoming less sarcastic and more happy as the time goes by. She's sure it has something to do with the powder she'd snuck into his last glass. It's doubtlessly had some kind of an effect on him.

He starts telling her all sorts of dirty limericks from District 4 and soon they're both collapsed on the mattress in heaps of laughter, laying side by side. He's just finished telling her one about fishermen, which apparently every young boy learns before elementary school, cuss words and all, when he rolls over to face her. Sil turns her head to look at him curiously, a smile still brightly etched into her face. Her eyes shine and she feels lighter than she has all day. She's not sure if it's the wine or if it's Finnick – or both.

His laughter fades into a happy smile. "This isn't such a terrible wedding night, is it?" he asks, as if he needs the confirmation.

Sil giggles and raises her arms over her head in a stretch. Then she turns her head back to face him and murmurs, "It certainly isn't boring."

The corners of his eyes crinkle up. He pushes himself onto his elbow, hovering over her as he grins boyishly. "Are you having a good time?"

She pauses only a moment before allowing her mouth to curl up with a soft laugh. "Yes," she replies, quietly looking up at him. The way his gaze cuts down to her makes her heart thud erratically in her chest, tempered by emotions too vast to put into a single word. She thinks she would need an entire book to describe the tumultuous things she feels for him.

She reaches up to draw her hand over his arm, fingertips dancing from bicep to shoulder. The soft material of his shirt is warm beneath her touch. She wonders what it might feel like to drag her hand over bare skin, and feels herself blush quietly at the thought of having a real wedding night with him, full of a passion that she can only dream of.

She thinks of many things in the span of that second. Things that make her both happy and sad at the same time. And then, turning her eyes to catch his, which are studying her in that gentle way she often finds herself wondering at, Sil whispers, "…I hope you can forgive me, Finnick."

The words make him tilt his head. He looks confused when he whispers back, "For what?"

She pauses again. Should she tell him now? Surely, it would be better to tell him herself rather than having him find out through other means. Her gaze flickers back and forth between his eyes as if she's reading the pages of a novel; paragraphs of heart and soul that she has not yet been allowed to breach.

She opens her mouth, inhaling deeply. The words are at the tip of her tongue, ready to be driven into existence for good or for bad. She swallows back the rising tide of fear, but at the last second, she wavers.

Gracious, but it is not a simple thing, baring yourself to another person.

Finnick's mouth quirks up at the corner. He raises an eyebrow at her silence and reaches out to draw his fingers over her cheekbone as he hovers over her. His eyes, which always seem to reflect the ocean, as if there are pieces of sea and salt forever trapped within the blue, shine at her softly.

"…For everything I've done to you so far, and everything I have yet to do," Sil breathes, and nearly cringes at the way the words come out, all breathless and shallow.

Gracious.

He hums, now threading his touch into her hair and idly twisting a silken strand around fingers, and throatily murmurs, "You're casting a pretty big net there, sugar."

Sil swallows tightly and tries to laugh, but the sound comes out a bit strained. She isn't sure if it's because her secrets are so difficult to say aloud, or if it has to do with the way he's looking at her now, as if he wants nothing more than to devour her.

Grasping his shirt, she shakily breathes, "…You'll let me know if I've caught anything, won't you?"

Quite suddenly, she doesn't think they're talking about secrets and forgiveness anymore.

Finnick's eyes flash at her. It is difficult to describe the cocktail of emotions that spiral through him; difficult to put into words the catalyst for the desire he suddenly feels. He has been used so often that the spin of true desire feels foreign to him now. Is this what it is supposed to be like? He thinks, as he looks down at her and wonders at the fire casting shadows through his body, that perhaps it is. And he thinks also that he's been caught in this particular net for a long time now, only he hadn't realized just how tangled he'd been in it or how patiently he's been waiting for Sil to draw that net up and put an end to this strange waiting game they've been playing for far too long.

He smiles down at her and chuckles. The way she smiles back makes his heart falter, because for once it isn't cast in the falsified too-wide expression that she often arranges her smiles in. This time, her eyes shine with sincerity.

Cameras and Capitolites; tabloids and manipulation. These are the things that have become the backbone of their relationship. How is it possible to feel so strongly for her, when everything has been against them from the very beginning? What has happened to him? He feels, suddenly, as if he is a different person.

Perhaps it is that feeling that makes him lean closer. Perhaps it is the realization that he has never kissed her – really kissed her – just because he wanted to. All of their romantic moments have been fake, born from a need to appease the Capitol crowds. He has only ever kissed her when they were in view of a camera.

"…Sil," he whispers hoarsely, watching her closely. His fingers return to her cheek, knuckles drifting over soft skin. When his gaze lingers on her mouth, Sil swallows.

When he kisses her, it feels like the rain. Not a hard rain, when the skies are torn with grey, and the air is frigid and you get pelted with droplets that fall like bullets to the earth. No – this is like a summer mist, when the sun is peeking out just so behind a distant cloud, and the light of it causes the very air to glimmer as if fairy dust has been strewn over the sky. Every droplet is a rainbow to itself, shimmering and dancing as it falls, and you decide to forgo an umbrella and coat because it's warm and you want to dance in it, too.

Sil feels like that, as Finnick's lips curve over hers.

Falling silent with subtle surprise, she stares at him. His eyes are closed, and he's kissing her gently, almost so gently that his lips feel efflorescent against her own, barely there and wonderful. When he pauses, opens his eyes to look at her, and then leans in to kiss her deeper, Sil's eyelids flutter and she finds herself kissing him back without permission. But once she starts, she cannot stop.

Finnick groans softly and pushes himself onto his elbows, rolling over her without breaking the kiss. The change of position only serves to deepen it even more, and before long he is kissing her hard and pressing her body into the mattress with the weight of his own.

Their hands tangle together beside her head, fingers entwined. The kiss turns hungry, possessive almost. Sil moans a little when his tongue darts out to rub against hers, and the sound seems to make him crazy. It's a beautiful crazy. A powerful one. She could get lost in this kiss just as desperately as she gets lost in him on a daily basis, and yet it's so much more dangerous than usual, for so many reasons.

Reasons that, at this moment, Sil forgets. She tangles her hand into his hair and pulls him closer, moaning again when he drags her bottom lip into his mouth and sucks at it, his teeth scraping sinfully over her with just the right amount of force. Her touch falls to his shoulder, then his arm, and she clutches at his muscled bicep shamelessly.

She barely remembers to breathe when his touch drifts over her, too, palming down her side with a diligence that makes her chest heave from the want. He grasps her waist, her hip, pulls her thigh up to nestle himself more comfortably against her. He hums against her mouth and they both wonder why they've never done this before.

To be honest, the kiss is a little messier than she'd expect from the smooth Finnick Odair, but she's not bothered by it. She can only lose herself in the tides between them, which seem to shorten at every moment – until suddenly Finnick lets out a strangled sort of sound and stops moving.

His head rolls to the side, resting on her shoulder. Sil's expression crests into confusion as she blinks over at him…only to find that he's passed out on her.

"…Finnick?" she hesitantly asks, nudging him. He doesn't move. Doesn't even make a sound.

"Gracious," she whispers to herself, and carefully extricates herself from his dead weight, which is suddenly crushing her. "Well that worked a little too well…" she mutters, and sighs.

Of course the drugs  _would_  take effect just when he'd started kissing her like that…

She has the worst luck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm kind of in love with this gif. I think it portrays this scene pretty well...Hope you all enjoyed this update :)


	39. After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Sil joins the rescue team, and her secret begins to slip.
> 
> I wasn't originally going to go into detail with this scene, but I figured I might as well make it more interesting. Hope you all enjoy! The next chapter will be from Finnick's POV...;)

**Chapter Thirty Nine | After**

" _At moments like these there is no doubt that there is in us a sense which has absolutely nothing to do with the other five. It is not that we see, it is not that we hear or touch, yet we seem to do all three at once." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

Sil leaves Finnick on the bed while she goes to her suitcase and pulls out a pair of dark jeans and the bullet proof vest she'd hidden at the bottom, beneath several blouses. She changes quickly and pulls her hair into a tall, sleek ponytail, then searches through her suitcase for the documents and other additions that she'd brought for the escape. Her mind is pleasantly muddled from the wine, so she pops a pill that will reduce the effect of the alcohol and allow her to do her job. Then, turning to Finnick, Sil sighs and grabs a sweatshirt with heavy fleece lining.

She goes to him and kneels down, maneuvering his body into a sitting position as she supports his head carefully. After a moment of wrestling, Sil huffs and just decides to allow his head to rest against her shoulder and neck while she battles the sweatshirt over his limbs. It will keep him warm, at least, on this cold spring night.

She follows up with a jacket, slinging it around his shoulders carefully and tucking it over the sweatshirt. When it's on, she lowers Finnick back down and starts to button it up, then – belatedly remembers that he needs shoes.

She doesn't have time to find them, though, because at that moment a loud knock filters through the room and a voice calls, "Room service!"

Sil tears her eyes to the door and the familiar voice behind it, and breathes a sigh of relief. She rushes to it and would have thrown herself at the man who greets her, had a large silver cart not been in the way.

Instead, Sil carefully keeps the majority of her body hidden from sight behind the door, and says in one of her more extreme posh accents, "Oh,  _do_  come in, darling! We're both  _starved_ , you know. I hope the wine is chilled – oh splendid, I see it is. Gracious, but you've come at a wonderful time – "

She rattles on for a while longer as she closes the door, locks it, and turns to the man who is now standing in the center of the foyer.

She smiles, "Tommy."

Her associate grins back and makes a dramatic show of gesturing to the curtains hanging around the edges of the cart – and of the lower platform of it, which is completely hidden from view.

"Splendid," Sil says again, though this time it's more directed and less posh. She slips forward and gestures for Tommy to follow.

He cringes when he sees Finnick's prone form, then chuckles, eyes honing in on his bare feet. "You knocked his socks off, Sil. Good job."

She rolls her eyes at him and mutters, "Just put some shoes on him, would you? I need to finish getting ready."

He doesn't argue, and while he's sliding Finnick's expensive patent leather loafers on, Sil flickers through the room, tossing several articles of clothing into a small bag and adjusting her appearance in the mirror to ensure that her identity is not obvious.

"What are you doing, getting a care package together? We need to go, Sil," Tommy says after a moment. She holds up a finger as if remembering something important and rushes toward them, burying her hand into her jean pocket to grasp onto a thin golden chain she'd tucked there. Tommy watches with raised eyebrows as she slips her ring off her finger, and then slips it onto the chain before leaning forward and clasping it around Finnick's neck.

"For safe keeping," she answers Tommy's unspoken question, and he shrugs.

Together, the two of them haul Finnick's prone form to the cart. Tommy does most of the work – passed out as he is, Finnick is heavy. Sil holds the curtains aside for them and helps fit him into the most comfortable position she can in a tiny cart that isn't meant to carry the weight of a five foot eight, muscled Victor. But it works. When the curtains are drawn, there is no trace of Finnick at all. Tommy and Sil take a moment to make sure that none of his limbs are poking out, and once they're sure everything is fine, Tommy rolls the cart to the door.

"Meet you outside in fifteen minutes," he says, glancing back at her as he adjusts the navy bellman uniform he's wearing. "Rendezvous point is in the back. You remember?"

Sil nods.

"Don't keep us waiting or we'll have to leave without you," he tells her, and then relaxes his entire face and bows dramatically. In a posh accent that he's clearly picked up from her, Tommy winks, "I hope your room service was satisfactory, madam. Please make sure you leave a rating on your way out."

Sil chuckles at him and waves him away, watching as he opens the door and wheels the cart into the hallway. He's carrying precious cargo tonight.

With a sigh, she turns back to the room and starts pacing. Fifteen minutes is a long time when one is waiting to enact a rebel plan that will save the remaining Victors stuck in the Capitol – but finally, the clock pushes her forward. She snatches up a pack of cigarettes she'd bought for a prop and heads into the hallway. When she gets down to the front lobby, no one looks twice at the hooded woman clearly heading out for a cigarette break on the patio. Instead of staying on said patio, though, Sil twists around the side of the building and glances around until she spots a nondescript black car idling on the side of the road. She heads toward it, hands stuffed into her pockets as she walks casually across the street.

The door opens for her and she slips inside in seconds. Finnick is sprawled out in the back seat, head tipped to the side and completely ignorant of the world around him. When Sil slides into the car beside him, she feels another bolt of guilt at the sight he makes, and has to fiercely battle it down so as to turn her thoughts to other avenues. Tommy is behind the wheel, and as he pulls the car out onto the street, he says, "All's clear. No problems on my end. You?"

Sil hums and edges toward Finnick's body. Her fingers fly over his coat, making sure that it's buttoned properly. She doesn't know why she's fussing so much. Maybe it's because the thought of saying goodbye to him is not an easy thing to do, especially after the surprisingly perfect night they'd just had. With a sigh, she responds, "No problems. Dorsey's in place?"

Tommy grunts and she takes it to mean that he is.

The city passes by. They keep to sideroads because there's less traffic, and as they go, Sil's hands continue to flutter over Finnick like a mother hen. As she's rubbing his cold hands between hers to get some warmth into them, Finnick's passed out status suddenly changes.

"…Sil?" he croaks, his eyelids fluttering. She freezes. So does Tommy, who is just pulling up to a red light and takes the moment to swivel back to stare at her. They exchange worried looks.

"Sil," he mumbles again, head flopping to the side. There's a touch of anxiety in his voice and she feels that guilt tear through her again. She already needs him to forgive her for lying to him about her identity and so much more; now he'll have to forgive her for drugging him as well. She sighs, and hopes he will realize that it's for his own good.

"Shhh…" she whispers, folding herself into his side and taking his face into her hands. She presses her mouth to his cheek and murmurs, "I'm here."

She doesn't have to pretend right now. She needs no mask. She kisses the corner of his mouth because she can – and partly because Finnick is still out of it and won't question her affection. And besides, she doesn't have much more time to kiss him as it is, so she'd better make the most of the few scant minutes they have left. She's never known love to be so complicated.

"Where are we?" he groans, looking like he's in pain. His voice is groggy and barely coherent, the words slurred together as he pushes them from him lips. His eyes flutter again. He doesn't seem to know if he should keep them open or closed.

The light changes and the car slowly moves forward. Sil keeps her face in Finnick's line of vision, both to comfort him as well as to block his sight.

He swallows thickly and groggily mutters, "…Sil…what's going on…?"

She just brushes her fingertips over his cheek and serenely whispers, "Go back to sleep, my love. I'm with you."

He mumbles something that she doesn't understand and his eyes stay closed. She's not sure if it's sleep or the drug weaving its way back into him, but she's thankful regardless.

With a sigh, Sil stays right where she is, allowing him to rest against her as Tommy drives them closer and closer to the Capitol prison. He stops about half a block away from it and turns the car off. A moment later, he's opening the door and glancing around the street.

Before Tommy pulls Finnick from the car, she shoves a folded up piece of paper into the lapels of his jacket. Divorce papers, and a letter. Her heart is in those pages. She hopes it will not be scorned. The time to hide is over, and the next time she sees Finnick, he will have no doubt about who she really is. The thought of this truth being brought to light makes her heart into a hummingbird; it beats hard and quick against her chest, so fast that breathing itself is difficult.

She tilts his head to her and presses a chaste kiss to his lips wordlessly. Tommy doesn't question her. He merely reaches out to adjust her hood. In her bullet proof vest and shadowy clothes, she looks perfectly nondescript.

"Let's go," Tommy whispers, throwing Finnick's arm around his shoulders and heaving him up, laughing a bit and pretending as if they are just two men who'd had a bit too much to drink that night. It takes some maneuvering, but Tommy manages to lift Finnick onto his back to make carrying him easier. Sil is quite sure that Finnick would not appreciate being tossed around in such a manner, but it isn't as if they have any other options at this point.

As they approach the side of the prison, Dorsey steps out of the shadows to help them. Tommy will bring Finnick up to the rooftop on the adjacent building, which can be accessed via an outside fire escape. They don't stop to linger at that point; even though Sil would like to give Finnick a proper goodbye, he isn't conscious enough to understand it. Instead, she just watches Tommy disappear, carrying the heavy weight of the man she has unwittingly fallen for and wondering if she will ever see him again.

Dorsey gives her only a moment's reprieve before grabbing her arm and pulling her into an alley behind the building. "Snap out of it, Sil," he mutters, shoving a duffle bag at her.

She sighs and unzips it, wasting no time as she shuffles into the white Peacekeeper armor that Dorsey had brought from the base beneath his shop. He quickly changes too, pulling on the armor over his torn jeans and baggy sweatshirt. By the time they're both dressed, they look nothing like themselves.

Duffle bags are shoved into the darkened shadows of the alley. Once they're sure that they aren't visible from the street, Dorsey and Sil head to the doors of the prison. Their disguises are flawless, as always. They walk right inside, and the night security doesn't give them a second glance.

Some stroke of luck must be on their side tonight, for there is no trace of other Peacekeepers or any of the white lab coats lingering around the halls as they make their way to the bottom floors of the prison. Though it certainly makes things easier for them, Sil can't help but feel that there is something very wrong with the empty halls.

"…Where is everyone?" she whispers, voice barely audible through her helmet.

At her side, Dorsey grunts. He sounds distinctly worried when he mutters, "I really hope we're not heading to our deaths."

Sil doesn't answer. She heads down the final stairway with Dorsey on her heels, and swings into the hall that holds the other Victors, breath shuttering in the throat as adrenaline and worry press through her. But – everyone is here. All the Victors are lined up in their cells as if nothing is wrong, despite the fact that there are no guards or scientists lingering around. Maybe it's the fact that it's very early in the morning, but Sil still has a bad feeling about it all.

"Let's make this quick. They'll be here soon," Dorsey murmurs as he passes her, referring to the rebels, who are on their way into the Capitol at this very moment. He steps up to the first cell and kneeling in front of the door. Sil is quickly reminded as to why Dorsey is so useful when he fiddles with the lock, artfully plucking a lockpick through it until the door slides open. She doesn't have the same innate talent with picking locks as he does, so she lets him focus on getting all the cells open while she assesses the state of the Victors.

To her horror, many of them aren't even conscious, and it isn't because they are sleeping. They have been through such turmoil that their bodies seem to have failed them, and they look even worse than they had when she had last seen them. They appear to be little more than husks, and not even their souls seem to exist within the sinew and bones.

As Dorsey goes around to each cell and forces the locks open, Sil rolls the Victors out into the hall. It's easier to just move their beds rather than try to pull them out of whatever stupor they're in. Before long, Peeta and Enobaria are both in place, their beds shoved against the wall so as to allow room to move them at a moment's notice. Neither of them have woken up during the process, and Sil is vaguely worried that perhaps this is because they aren't sleeping at all, but rather in some chemical induced state. She barely has time to check their pulse to make sure they're even alive. When she feels the shallow fluttering beat of their hearts, she nearly collapses in her relief. Enobaria has never been her favorite person, but Sil is glad that she is okay.

Dorsey is just finishing up the last cell when Sil enters Johanna's compartment, and the first sign of trouble arrives. It isn't the sort of trouble that comes in the form of Peacekeepers or failed plans. No, this has more to do with the way Johanna stubbornly clings to life even as Sil starts to wheel her bed into the hallway. The sight of the white Peacekeeper armor Sil is wearing doesn't exactly create a stellar reaction from the Victor who has been brutalized by the city militia for weeks now, and when Johanna's eyes flutter open and catch sight of her, she nearly decapitates Sil with her foot when it snaps out to kick her helmet.

" _Fuck you,"_  Johanna hisses, struggling against the ties that bind the rest of her body to the bed. Her voice is a broken shard that is more than just dehydrated. She sounds like a ghost who has lost some integral part of her, and no longer cares that this part is lost. A sneer stretches over her sallow face, and Johanna growls, "What the fuck do you want now?"

Sil pauses, one hand repositioning her Peacekeeper helmet, the other on the bottom railing of Johanna's bed. She turns to study the Victor for a long moment, before slowly saying, "It'll be okay now, Johanna."

Johanna's immediate reaction is to give Sil a vivid scowl. Her second is a little more conflicted. Her eyes narrow in confusion. Something about the words apparently seem out of place. There is a gentleness to them that sounds foreign in these halls. The Victor stares at the Peacekeeper hovering over her, and bites, "What the fuck is this? A trick?"

Sil just sighs, wavering for a moment before pursing her lips and wrangling the helmet off. Johanna is too stubborn for her own good, sometimes. She won't go quietly if she thinks she's being taken to yet another torture chamber. There is really only one thing to do, and even though Sil's fingers are shaking when she pulls the helmet off and reveals her face, she does it anyway.

It's just a tiny bit amusing, the way Johanna's eyes widen into saucers at the sight of the white-blonde hair, twinkling green eyes, and aristocratic features. Her gaze is locked to Sil's face. She looks utterly blown away, so surprised that she can only lay there and gape. Sil tilts her head at the woman and gives her a secretive smile before repeating, "You must trust me, Johanna."

But Johanna doesn't do anything at all. She just stares with those wide eyes like she's seeing an apparition. She's clearly confused – the sight of Silver Lamprey Cornelius dressed as a Peacekeeper obvious has an impact on her. The aggravating District 1 Victor is suddenly a little less aggravating. Her posh accent is gone, the tone now unexaggerated and normal. The dopey, idiotic gleam in her eyes is gone too. Everything about Sil is gone. In place of the inane fop that Johanna has always loathed is a mischievous creature made from a tidepool of courage and secrets.

Trust. It is a rare commodity to a Victor. Especially a Victor who has been trapped in an underground prison for weeks, starved and tortured to such an extent that her very lifeforce has been twisted into irreparable disregard.

"What the hell," Johanna deadpans, and narrows her eyes. "This is a hallucination."

Sil, the fop of the Capitol, tips her head back and laughs.

"It doesn't matter what it is," she responds, wheeling the bed into the hall. "All that matters is the fact that you're going to District 13."

Johanna bites out a humorless laugh, but she doesn't respond. She just stares at Sil as if she thinks the blonde woman is going to turn into a mutt and skewer her.

The sight of her has Sil snorting. "Close your mouth before you catch flies, Johanna darling." She nearly laughs at the way Johanna's mouth audibly snaps shut, but figures that laughing would be a bit insensitive at this moment, so Sil stays silent.

When Sil drags her bed to join the others though, and Johanna sees the line of her fellow Victors for probably the first time since she's been down here, the brash woman seems to realize that this might not be a hallucination after all. Especially when a noise sounds at the other end of the hall, and the rebel soldiers that they've been waiting for begin to spill into the prison.

Sil doesn't linger by Johanna's bed. She's got one more Victor to get to – the one who, in some ways, matters the most. Finnick would be utterly devastated if he woke up in District 13 and found that Annie had not been rescued.

Unlike the others, the redheaded woman is not in her bed, and she isn't as weak as to not be able to move around. That doesn't mean she isn't weak in other ways, though. When Sil steps around Dorsey's solemn form and ducks into the cell, she sees the girl sitting in the corner. She doesn't even appear to be aware of what is going on around her. She's hunched over with her face against her knees and her arms tight around her legs, rocking back and forth as she mutters beneath her breath.

There have been rumors about Annie Cresta for years now. The arena had changed her. It had made her lose her sanity. To Sil's understanding, only Finnick and Mags have ever been able to drag the woman from the waking nightmares that plague her. She therefore doesn't have very much confidence that she'll be able to break Annie's stupor, but she sinks to her knees beside her prone form anyway, and slowly reaches out to touch her shoulder. The way Annie lurches back, face contorted with a strange mixture of fear and anger, makes Sil freeze.

"Annie? Do you recognize me?" Sil whispers, still helmetless and visible to everyone. It is inherently odd to think that for the first time since she's taken on the mantle of the Nightingale, she is not wearing a mask to conceal her true purpose. She isn't sure if the feeling that spreads through her is because she is afraid, or relieved.

Like Johanna, Annie stares. She stares for a very long moment, and the noise in the hallways as the rebels begin to move the Victors out of the prisons fades away. Her eyes dance over Sil's features, alighting on the familiar arch of her nose, the green of her eyes – until Annie suddenly leaps forward and throws her arms around Sil's shoulders. She clings to her so tightly that Sil is utterly speechless.

"Oh Sil," Annie whimpers, "you can't be here. You have to go. Finnick wouldn't want you here."

Sil is so confused at the sudden string of words that she furrows her brow and pulls back. She takes Annie's face in her hands to force her attention on her, and says, "Listen to me, Annie. I'm going to take you to Finnick. He's waiting for you, but you must leave now."

Annie frowns. "Finnick? No, no – he's waiting for  _you_. He's in love with you, and he's been waiting for you to be in love with him, too."

At the words, Sil falls silent. To say that she is at a loss would be an understatement. She pauses, glancing behind her, and sighs. Then, turning back to Annie, she nods and helps the Victor stand up. "Alright," she says, just to appease her. The thought of Finnick being in love with her is something she can think about later. Now is not the time for such heartfelt musings. "Let's get you out of here."

This time, Annie doesn't try to stop her. She is weak, and she leans heavily against Sil as she helps her to the entrance of her cell. Outside of it, Peeta and Enobaria have already been taken upstairs to where the hovercraft awaits, and the rebels are starting to lift Johanna up to take her next. Sil and Annie pause in the doorway as Johanna struggles to sit up, her body weak and useless. The sight of her has Sil stepping forward, leaving Annie to lean against the threshold for a moment until she reaches Johanna's side. When Sil slips a scrap of paper into her hand as she helps her up, Johanna's mouth drops open.

A slow smile curves over Sil's face as Johanna stares at the familiar mark - a device made of inky black wings and mischievous eyes, which peers at Johanna from its papery confinements until the Victor lets out an incredulous laugh and at last turns to Sil.

"You little shit," she hoarsely says as the rebel impatiently pulls her towards the stairs.

She gives Johanna a halfhearted shrug. "Look after him for me," Sil tells her as the Victor is carried away. It's clear enough who she is referring to. Johanna scoffs and nods, and doesn't look away from Sil even as she is brought out of the prisons.

Sil steps back to Annie, who seems too strung out to have realized what just happened, but the path is interrupted by a rebel soldier. The man looks vaguely familiar to Sil, though for the life of her, she can't figure out who he is or where she has seen him before. His dark eyes contain within them a strange thunderous nature, as if they aren't sure if they want to be angry or calm. When Sil looks into them, she is struck by their tempestuous quality.

"I'll take her," the man says. His voice seems to match his eyes.

Sil pauses, then a slow realization trickles through her and she murmurs, "You're Gale Hawthorne, Katniss's cousin."

The man snorts at this and mutters, "And you're Silver Lamprey Cornelius, the stupidest woman in Panem."

Sil laughs. "I suppose we both wear our masks, don't we?" She gently pushes Annie forward and says, "Take good care of her, won't you darling?"

The pet name makes Gale pause, raising an eyebrow even as he hooks his arm around Annie's waist to keep the weakened Victor from falling. He studies Sil for a long moment before gruffly murmuring, "You should leave before you're caught. Beetee's controlling the cameras, but that doesn't mean you're safe."

Even though it isn't really the time for pretenses, Sil can't help but chuckle and purr, "What a gentleman you are, Gale Hawthorne." And as Gale brings Annie to the stairs, Sil turns and gestures to Dorsey, who is carrying her helmet under his arm and apparently can't wait to stuff it back onto her head.

"Stupid girl," he mutters as he does, flicking the visor once it's on. "You should be more careful. Your face is too well known."

Sil doesn't answer. She knows he's right. They don't stick around to watch the rebels finish up. The cargo that the soldiers will be carrying back to District 13 is not their problem, anymore. Sil and Dorsey take their leave before they lose their opportunity to do so, and before the hovercraft has left the vicinity, they are back in the alleyway, stuffing the Peacekeeper armor back into the duffle bags and rearranging themselves.

"Tommy'll be waiting at the base," Dorsey mutters, hiking the duffle bags over his shoulder as Sil pulls her hood back up over her hair. He purses his lips as he stares at the prison, and sighs, "Get back to the hotel. I'll take it from here."

Sil just nods, arms crossed as she studies the face of the man that she's been working with for years now. After a brief pause, she murmurs, "Something wasn't right in there. I expected more of a pushback. Surely the Capitol knows that something is going on?"

Dorsey grunts in agreement, rubbing his scruffy jaw. "…As long as the Victors are out and our identities are hidden, that's all that matters. You're still keeping to that plan of yours for the morning?"

Sil nods heavily. "How else will I explain Finnick's absence? In Snow's eyes, I'm still the fop of the Capitol. Besides…Felix won't let anything happen to me…at least, he won't let me die."

The words make Dorsey frown at her. His voice is strained when he whispers, "Be careful, Sil. I don't know when we'll see each other again. Come morning, you'll be watched 24/7, so don't make any rash moves."

She hums and reaches out to clap him on the shoulder. Then, smiling up at him, she tells him, "Worry not, darling. I've no intention of getting careless."

He just grumbles at her and gestures to the car. Sil nods and lifts her hand to him before ducking back to the shadows where the sleek black vehicle is waiting. By the time she slides into the driver's seat, Dorsey's figure is gone, and she is alone. She sits there for only a moment before starting the car and pulling back out into the road, but in that moment, she feels a claustrophobic press of loneliness that nearly cripples her.

She takes the long way around to avoid the same route they'd used coming here. When she returns, she leaves the car where it is on the side street and heads off to back door that is used by the staff. Tommy will come by to pick the car up before the end of the night, hiding all traces of their movements. As for now, Sil quietly slips into the room that, only hours before, had been full of laughter and the gentle cadence of affection.

When she gets there, the first thing she does is pour herself a big glass of wine. She runs her hand over her face and sighs. Finnick will be safe in District 13, but that doesn't mean she will not miss him. She  _already_  misses him, and he hasn't even left the city limits yet.

Come morning, she will once again be the laughing stock of Panem. Her new husband, leaving on their wedding night? A hidden rebel disappearing on her during their honeymoon? The reputation of Silver Lamprey Cornelius will hit a new low, but hopefully it will be one that will help her to hide even better in plain sight.

"Cheer up, my love," she tells herself, and laughs. "You're not quite finished yet, after all."

She's got a hell of a lot more work to do before the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are some drawings done by lottelc, which I'm so amazed with and wanted to share. Thanks so much!!


	40. Another

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Finnick understands.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy - and that this chapter is as good as you all were hoping it would be! Would love some feedback on your thoughts!
> 
> Also, one last thing: I bought one of those daily calendars where you flip the pages and get a quote, and today's quote is so perfect for this chapter that I thought I'd share. "When you have abandoned all past and future, it is as it you have come alive. You are here, mindful...the nature of all types of consciousness reveals itself." Ajahn Brahm

 

**Chapter Forty | Another**

" _What connection could there be between her exquisite dandy of a husband, with his fine clothes and refined, lazy ways, and the daring plotter who rescued French victims from beneath the very eyes of the leaders of a bloodthirsty revolution?" Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

Finnick's first coherent thought is that the wine he'd had with Sil was a hell of a lot stronger than he'd thought. His head is aching terribly when he comes to, and he feels dehydrated. His throat is dry and his eyes are crusted over with sleep. It takes him a good few minutes to gather up the motivation to lift his hand to his head and open his eyes. When he does, he sits up so quickly that his head pounds horrifically, but his surprise doesn't allow him peace.

He's not in the hotel room.

With a jerk, Finnick looks around and realizes with growing dread that he's in a hospital, and that never bodes well. He's still wearing his clothes from before, and he's clearly only been put here momentarily. He's not hooked up to anything. It's strange in and of itself.

What's stranger, he supposes as he catches sight of a sign above a nearby door, are the words,  _'District 13 Medical Center'_  written in bold lettering over the threshold. Yes, that's definitely a little weird. Is this some kind of joke? Did the Capitol set this up to test him?

It's not a test, though, which he realizes before long.

"I see you're awake," Haymitch's bored voice suddenly says, and Finnick turns to face the man with wide eyes. He stares.

"Haymitch?" Finnick asks slowly, wondering if this is a hallucination brought on by Capitol medics. Haymitch can't be here. Haymitch is in District 13. His eyes trail back to the sign on the opposite wall and he swallows.

"Where am I?" he quietly asks, not looking away from that sign for even a moment.

Haymitch snorts and stuffs his hands into his pockets. "I'm pretty sure you already know. And before you ask, no this isn't a hallucination, yes this is real, and no I'm not going to let you cry on my shoulder. I haven't had a drink in weeks and I'm cranky."

Finnick turns to glance at him, eyebrow raised. Then he catches sight of the deep shadows beneath Haymitch's eyes and the slight twitch of his body. Has he really not had a drink in weeks? Unheard of. Though he certainly does  _look_  more sober than Finnick's ever seen him.

"I'm pretty sure my hallucinations wouldn't be able to come up with  _that,"_  Finnick mutters, rubbing his face with both hands as he leans over. "Whoever heard of a  _sober version_  of you?"

Haymitch grunts in agreement and grumbles, "Well you seem chipper despite being drugged and stuffed onto a hovercraft. Good on you."

His words make Finnick still. With a frown, he looks over at Haymitch and asks, "What are you – " Then suddenly images invade his mind, and he freezes, his words dying abruptly on his tongue.

Drinking with Sil. Yes, that's what he'd been doing. And then – the kiss. It had been a good kiss. She'd reciprocated, and he remembers pushing her down into the mattress before his memories go blank. He vaguely remembers seeing her again, her face rising up out of the darkness and her fingers lingering on his face – but, the only other memories he has of last night are indistinct sounds and images that he can't make out in his blurry, hazy state.

"Drugged?" he questions suddenly, and thinks back on the wine.

Did Sil drug him? No. Of course she wouldn't do something like that. The mere thought is ridiculous…right? He raises a hand to his chin and, in doing so, his fingers brush against hard metal. He pauses only a moment before grasping blindly at a ring that is hanging around his neck – a pearl ring that looks dizzyingly familiar. It belongs to Sil, so why does he have it?

He swivels his head to face Haymitch and demands, "Where is Sil, anyway? And how did we get here?" There is a thread of panic that weaves its way through his voice. Is she alright? She must be frightened, he thinks. Rebellions are not her cup of tea. She's got to be completely out of her comfort zone here.

But Haymitch, for some reason, just snorts. He pushes a hand through his hair and mutters, "How about you just get some sleep and we'll answer all your questions when you feel better. Your head's gotta be pounding. That was apparently some strong stuff."

Finnick doesn't know how Haymitch knows what kind of drug he's apparently been dosed with, but before he can ask, the older Victor turns on his heel and heads to the door.

"Haymitch – "

"Just relax, kid," he cuts him off, glancing over his shoulder. "Get some rest. There's water on the side table. Tomorrow morning, we'll get you set up with a room and a job to keep you busy, and President Coin will speak with you herself."

And Finnick can only watch silently as Haymitch disappears, wondering why he hadn't mentioned Sil in any of his words. Still, his headache is so strong that Finnick just sighs as he lies back down…

And then stops, because the subtle sound of crinkling paper alerts him to the fact that there's something in his jacket. He frowns in confusion and pats the tops of it, hands flying over the lapels until he hears the telltale sound of muffled pages pressing against fabric. With no small amount of curiosity, Finnick pulls out a neatly folded paper.

In a room full of sterilized equipment and cleaners, the scent of Sil's perfume hits him square in the chest. He opens it with an eagerness that flounders into concerned anxiety when he reads the top of the page. 'Petition for Divorce' is written in bold letters across the margin, and several paragraphs down from it is Sil's flowery signature. He stares in open mouthed shock.

Divorce? He's so confused that he can only stare at the page with a frown that grows at every diplomatic word that flourishes into existence. When he reaches the end of the document, he stares for a long moment at the blank line where his own signature is meant to go.

Divorce. Truly? They hadn't even been married for a full 24 hours, and already she is prepared to divorce him? Had she drawn these papers up before they had even said the vows? She must have, because she'd hardly left his side after the wedding – always flittering between guests and him, her too-wide smile lifting up her cheeks, her eyes shining with a happiness he could almost imagine as genuine. His heart splutters when he realizes that such sincerity could  _only_  be a part of his imagination.

She doesn't love him. Their entire relationship is founded on lies and deceit bred wholly for the Capitol gossips. When had he begun to think that maybe she did?

With a clenched jaw, Finnick slides out the second paper and tears it open. When he sees Sil's handwriting covering the page, he's tempted to toss it to the ground and maybe step on it for good measure – but as always, his own curiosity gets the better of him, and Finnick grumbles as he splays the page out and begins to read.

' _Dearest Finnick'_ , she writes at the top, as if he is truly dear to her. As if the divorce papers do not even exist. He can almost hear her posh accent speak the words herself. At this moment, the memory of her voice makes him cringe.

_Dearest Finnick,_

_Please do not be angry that I have kept secrets from you. You must understand the perilous position I am in here in the Capitol. I felt it necessary to keep you in the dark, though I had not expected the regret that would accompany my decision. The sleepless nights, Finnick – how many times I have thought of confessing my part in all this! But always my duty holds me one step from you. It is a barrier I cannot pass through. You will be upset, I'm sure, when you hear of my true role. Angry that I did not tell you, despite having had so very many opportunities to do so. I implore you to direct that anger to me only, and not to the rebellion. President Coin needs men like you, Finnick. You have so much potential. So much fury for all the Capitol has done to you. Use it to fight against what we know to be wrong._

_By now you will be safe in District 13, where no harm can come to you. The thought of your safety is all that keeps me afloat. Somehow I find that you have become very important to me._

_I'm sure the subject of our recent marriage is heavy on your mind, therefore I will keep this short. I have prepared divorce documents and signed my name to them. You may do with them what you will. Annulling the marriage is not, perhaps, what's truly important with the war looming before us, but I had hoped it would ease the burden from your mind to know that there is nothing I will not do for you._

_And that is the last thing I must tell you, Finnick. To clear up a misunderstanding that has dogged us from the very beginning. Please know that, whatever you think to assume about my feelings for you, and regardless as to how much I have kept hidden, I have not dramatized any declaration, any affection, nor fabricated any endearment. You mean far more to me than I could have ever imagined._

_I have decided to leave you my wedding ring as a precautionary measure. I can hardly wear it now that you've been labeled a rebel in the Capitol's eyes. Keep it safe for me. I should hope you'll return it when I next see you._

_Be safe, Finnick. I will miss you dearly._

_Yours, despite the distance,_

_S.L.C._

Beside her signature is her family crest, though it has been altered to exclude the three snakes that he recalls twisting around the black bird. In fact, the bird itself is changed as well. Instead of sitting idly with its wings pressed to its sides, this bird is swooping in midflight, as if it has finally broken free of its living cage and is flying itself to freedom. Something strikes him as oddly familiar at the sight of the altered Cornelius crest, but his mind is too dizzy, too conflicted, to truly give it any more attention than a passing glance.

He stares down at the page with even more confusion than ever. He has to read it several times before her words make sense, and even then, his confusion stills reigns. What does she mean by 'her part in all this'? As always, her elegant wording leaves blanks in his understanding, and he grapples with the onset of knowledge that he cannot fit into place.

He raises his hand to the ring around his neck and rubs his thumb over the smooth pearl. The metal has warmed with the heat of his body, but the jewelry feels somehow ominous. Why had she given him her ring? He looks down at his own wedding band and rubs his face in exhaustion. Even though his head is positively aching, he knows he will not get any rest.

Brushing off Haymitch's previous words, Finnick throws his legs over the edge of the mattress and stands up. A dizzy wave hits him squarely for a brief moment, and his headache rears wildly before toning down to a dull, persistent ache. He lingers only momentarily before folding Sil's note and the divorce papers back into the inner pocket of his jacket and then heading out of the hospital wing. He doesn't reach the main doors, though, before he hears someone croak, "Finnick…?"

The familiar voice has him turning immediately, no longer interested in anything but the woman who owns it. Annie Cresta is leaning against a nearby wall, looking like she really ought to be in bed. She's barely holding herself up as she leans into it, fingers shaky.

Finnick's eyes widen and he breathes, "Annie." He can't stop the grin from overtaking his face. He can't stop himself from immediately jogging towards her, either. With a surprised laugh, he repeats, "Annie!" and pulls her into his arms.

She's laughing too as she buries her face against his shoulder and holds him tightly. Finnick's embrace is far better than the wall. She abruptly feels stronger, as if he is imparting some aspect of himself into her by touch alone.

"How are you here?" he demands after a moment, pulling away to look down at her. The shock of seeing his friend has lessened, to a degree. He finds himself a little more interested in figuring out what the hell is going on, and how his world has changed so drastically overnight. He smooths his hand over Annie's red hair and frowns down at her. A part of him had thought he may never see her again, and yet she's here in District 13…and so is he. To be honest, he's wondering if this is just a dream, and if he'll wake up from it, next to Sil in their hotel room on that great four poster bed.

Annie opens her mouth to respond to him, but she only gets the opportunity to say one word before the nurses seem to realize that she has left her bed and come looking for her. They gently scold her for leaving, explain why it is important for her to be hooked up to the IV, and guide her back down the hall and away from Finnick. And Finnick lets them go, because he's swept up in the word that Annie had said.

" _Nightingale."_

He could laugh, but for some reason, the laughter gets stuck in his throat. His hand comes up to rub at his neck, brow furrowed in confusion. The word spins around and around in his head. For some strange reason, he has this inexplicable gut reaction to it, as if some subconscious part of him knows that there is something being hidden from him.

If the Sterling Nightingale helped to break out Annie, and indeed, himself, then what about Sil? She must be around here somewhere, laying in one of these beds or being treated by one of the nurses. He immediately starts to look for her, feeling this undefined anxiety crawl through him the more he searches. He cannot find her. There is no sign of pale blonde hair strewn over a pillow; no sound of high pitched laughter; no trace of her at all. The more he realizes this, the more frenzied he feels, until he decides that perhaps she has already left the hospital and has ventured into District 13, and that he really ought to find her to keep her from the horror that she no doubt feels.

Sil, in this place? She would have a heart attack.

As he heads to the entrance of the hospital and walks beneath the District 13 sign, he thinks he must be dreaming. This is clearly not the case once he gets to the main halls, though, because his imagination could never dream up such an intricate sight.

People scurry everywhere like ants rushing around. They're all dressed in navy blue jumpsuits, and each one has a white patch on the left chest with words embroidered onto it. Upon closer look, Finnick realizes that the words differ from each person and seem to categorize them into jobs. He spots a group of engineers walking towards him, and passes a few medics and even a gardener. He'll have to ask Haymitch about that later.

No one stops him, though he does get some strange glances from passersby. Whether it's because he's not dressed in navy blues or because they recognize him as a Victor, he's not sure. Maybe both – he doesn't stop to wonder, and nobody stops to tell him he's not allowed to walk around.

After ten minutes, he's lost. He takes a flight of stairs down, grasping the thin metal railing tightly as he glances into a steep tunnel that seems to plunge right to the center of the earth. It's ingenious, this place, though the atmosphere is rather claustrophobic, especially with his headache. The architecture is straight up and down, and he wonders how far underground they actually are. It's no wonder the Capitol has been unable to extricate them. This place is an iron refuge.

Finnick wanders around. He'd meant to clear his head a bit from the confusion of Sil's latest streak of drama (or whatever it is, he's honestly not sure). But his head only spins faster and more precariously as he delves further into the district that, growing up, had only been a myth. He can't believe it's so  _real_. He's wondering if he should ask someone for directions, preferably to a cafeteria because he's starving, when he bumps into a woman rushing in the opposite direction.

"Sorry – " he's quick to apologize, hands flying out to catch the woman's shoulders lest she fall. His breath catches in his throat when he realizes that it's  _Katniss_. Her dark hair and determined eyes are difficult to miss.

"Finnick?" she asks, at the same time he blurts, "Katniss!" They stare at each other.

"What are you doing here?" she demands, brushing his hands off her shoulders and straightening the navy jumpsuit she's wearing. He hadn't even noticed her amid the sea of other jumpsuits, she looks so similar to the rest of District 13. He rubs the back of his head as he looks her over.

"Oh you know," he mutters, lifting his eyes to lock with hers. He tilts his head and shrugs, "Taking a stroll. It's not every day someone gets the chance to explore District 13."

Katniss eyes him with a raised brow and grunts, "You're supposed to be in the hospital. How's your head? Haymitch told me Sil drugged you to get you out."

For a moment, Finnick is completely speechless. Her words only further his confusion. She must see it in his eyes, because Katniss rolls hers and mumbles, "Look, I can't stop to talk. Coin wants me filming  _promos."_  She says the words like it's a curse and adds, "I'll take you to Beetee. He can tell you everything. Come on."

Before he can say another word, Katniss grabs his wrist and hauls him behind her, twisting around the rushing crowd of jumpsuits that ebb around them like waves. He's so lost, in both her words and the atmosphere itself, that all he can do is follow.

After about five minutes, they arrive in a hallway that's slightly less populated. Katniss stops at a door and pushes it open, dragging him in behind her. The interior of the room rather catches Finnick off guard.

The walls are lined with weapons. There are a few large workspaces, with long tables and power tools stored beneath them on shelves. More tools are lined on racks nearby, ranging from simple manual cranks to welding masks to big battery powered equipment. Plastic boxes are stacked beneath them, filled with things like jump rings and screws. There's even a firing range set up near the back wall, complete with targets that already have a few holes in them. Beetee is in the center of it all, leaning over a workbench and turning something over in his hands.

He looks up at their entrance and seems surprised to see Finnick.

"Finnick, I didn't realize you were awake. How are you feeling?" Beetee asks. Funny, how he's the first one to do so with any sort of sincerity.

Finnick pauses because he's honestly not sure  _what_  he's feeling, but before he has time to respond, Katniss cuts in. "He was walking around like a lost puppy. I'm leaving him with you for now – my camera team will be wondering where I am. Do you mind?"

The Victor from District 3 shrugs amicably and Katniss takes it as an affirmative gesture. She nods at Finnick before twisting on her heel and disappearing, shutting the door behind her. Finnick idles and clears his throat, feeling awkward. He mutters, "Never thought Katniss Everdeen would call me a lost puppy."

Beetee chuckles. He turns back to his work and explains, "She's been having a difficult time adjusting to life here."

Finnick glances down at the wheelchair Beetee is in and hums. "So have you, it seems."

Beetee shrugs and glances at him. "It's been…hard, yes. But I'm keeping myself busy. President Coin has asked me to help the engineers with the field equipment. I'm working on something for the Nightingale now – something of my own invention."

Finnick steps forward with a curious look on his face. Peering over Beetee's shoulder, he sees that he's working on some sort of hand pistol. It's small, just the size of his palm, and could fit into a boot or pocket. He tilts his head and Beetee starts explaining the mechanisms of it, delving off into territory that goes a bit over Finnick's head.

"We need to make special bullets for it," Beetee's saying, "but don't let the size fool you – it's an automatic, and it's got a powerful kick despite the dimensions. Fascinating, isn't it?"

Finnick raises an eyebrow and looks down at him, "Coin was right to put you here – you're fitting right in."

Beetee smiles and shakes his head, "I'm better with electrical things, but I've learned quite a lot in the last few weeks."

He reaches over to take an empty firearm clip, and as he does, Finnick nudges the small pistol with his finger. On the side, imprinted into the outer casing, is a swooping black bird that Finnick's seen before. Everybody knows the symbol – the Nightingale uses it. The spy even leaves little notes behind after his escapades with the bird printed on them; small footnotes of rebellion.

He's seen the bird before in newspaper articles, but today it looks different. Familiar. He tilts his head and touches it idly. Beetee must see the movement, because after a moment he says, "I thought the Nightingale could use a customized weapon. Coin said she liked the last one I sent." He chuckles, but Finnick hardly hears. He's too fixated on the way Beetee had said 'she'.

Swiveling around to look at the inventor, he raises his eyebrows and blurts, "She? The Nightingale is a woman? Really?"

Beetee pauses. He looks at Finnick with his eyebrows raised to his hairline. Complete surprise overpowers his features.

"…I thought you knew the identity of the Sterling Nightingale," is all he says, slowly and quietly, as if he is suddenly aware that he's treading dangerous water.

A laugh bursts passed Finnick's lips. "Why would _I_  know who the Sterling Nightingale is?" The entirety of Panem doesn't, so why would he? But Beetee just looks shell shocked, as if this is astonishing to him.

"…She's better than I thought," he mutters after a beat of silence. It only makes Finnick's confusion skyrocket.

With an exhausted sigh, Finnick rubs his forehead and mutters, "What are you talking about, Beetee? Ever since I've arrived here, it's been one confusing thing after another. I don't even know  _how_  I got here. Katniss said something about Sil  _drugging_  me and – "

He pauses, words dying on his tongue. Beetee stares at him in pensive silence, but doesn't comment when Finnick suddenly starts riffling around in his jacket. He drags out Sil's letter and throws it open on the table, leaning over it with a manic gleam in his eyes. At the bottom, beside her signature, is a symbol he had thought was merely her family crest. Yet looking at it side by side with the symbol of Panem's greatest spy, it catches a different meaning.

A swooping bird, black as midnight, with three snakes tangled around its body. But if you take the snakes away…

"That's impossible," Finnick whispers, eyes skimming through Sil's words yet again as he tries to put things into perspective. She talks an awful lot about hiding things from him – keeping him in the dark, not telling him about her true part in all this. And she seems to know about the rebellion and that he is now in District 13, which she  _shouldn't know_. Not unless she was…somehow in on the plans herself.

Impossible.

"Like I said," Beetee hesitantly murmurs, turning the miniature gun cartridge around his fingers, "…She's better than I thought."

Finnick turns to stare at him, and Beetee shrugs halfheartedly.

"No," he says staunchly, the word coming unbidden to his lips. " _There's no possible way_  that Silver Lamprey Cornelius is the Sterling Nightingale. It makes no sense. She's completely…" he searches for a word that does Sil justice. Naïve? Foolish? Luckily Beetee seems to understand his dilemma and grunts in agreement.

"Yes…that was my first reaction as well. She's a very good actress. Who would ever suspect that the Nightingale is hiding in plain sight, right beneath Snow's surveillance?" The inventor shakes his head with a smile and adds, "It's truly spectacular."

The respect fostered in his voice makes Finnick pause. He is so used to hearing derision in the way other Victor's respond to Sil's antics. It's no secret that they all dislike her, or find her lacking in some way. She's always been closer to the citizens of the Capitol than the people with whom she shares the most similarities. He's always thought it strange that she never acted the way every other Victor acts. That she actually seems to enjoy being so entrenched in her Capitol lifestyle.

Could it really be just an act?

His mind has drawn a blank, and he can't think. All his thoughts swirl together like dust collected in a windstorm, blowing every which way with no hopes of settling.

It's impossible, and yet it actually  _does_  make sense.

Before he even realizes it, the silly little wordplay Sil had spouted at that dinner party in District 1, months ago, trickles through his mind.

" _A ghost is he who walks in sight_

_But hides just so from vaulted light,_

_And though they seek to know his name,_

_They cannot hope to play his game…"_

He'd wondered what she meant by it. He thought, at the time, that she had merely thrown the words together in an attempt to rhyme, but he sees the meaning more clearly now. It must be a reference to her socialite status in the Capitol. His headache throbs back into existence and he groans, rubbing a hand over his face.

As if the memory unlocks something in his head, endless more come to him as he stands there staring at the Nightingale's seal, and he feels almost dizzy in the wake of it all.

_My mother used to breed nightingales in the aviary._

_Nightingales can be quite nasty. If you get too close to them, they're liable to bite._

_Fascinating coincidence that the greatest spy in Panem has happened to take the name for himself…_

_Assuming, of course, that the Nightingale is in fact a man._

_You wouldn't believe the kinds of rebels my family has housed throughout the decades…_

_Acting can be so tedious, darling._

The more he remembers, the more the details seem to slide into place. The missing piece of the puzzle, the one he's been unknowingly searching for these past few months, finally appears. The bigger picture is spectacularly frightening and awe inspiring at the same time.

Her secretive smiles, her unexplained amusement whenever he stumbled around the hints that he had been blind to, before, but now can now see bright as daylight. The sudden spark of intellect that would shoot through her eyes and so often take him aback whenever he witnessed it. How had he been so blind? Why had he so easily let all these blaring signs pass him by without bothering to iron them out? The answer comes as clearly as the remaining pieces of the puzzle that he can so suddenly grasp. The answer, as it so often is, is love.

He is so in love with Silver Lamprey Cornelius that he had not even bothered to collect the hints she had left behind for him. He has fallen so hard for her that he had not even cared if she really was as stupid and as narrowminded as the person she pretends to be. Love is the answer, and it is also the curse, because he realizes that he really doesn't know Sil at all.

And, with a start of horror blazing through him, he realizes something else. He had not fully grasped the intricacies of Snow's threats before this moment. He realizes just how pressed he actually was, with his orders to hunt down the Sterling Nightingale. For surely, if he had known that he had an ultimatum between Annie and Sil, he would have agonized over it with far more potency than he would have thought imaginable.

What must she have thought of him, when he had told her of Snow's threats all those weeks ago? The horror on her face, the wide eyes – the slight break of her voice as she responded to him with such poise. Had he been in a similar position, in the very shoes that she had walked, he doubts he could have come up with so elegant an answer.

" _You must do what you think is right. I suppose…you must choose between Annie and the Nightingale."_

What pain he has brought to her, without ever knowing until this moment!

He stares at the Nightingale symbol for a few more moments, face pensive and jaw tense. Then he folds the letter back up and turns to Beetee with blazing eyes.

"Take me to President Coin. I need to talk to her," he says – demands, more like, though Beetee doesn't argue.

The inventor pauses only a moment as he stares up at Finnick's expression. He must see the determination that Finnick can feel searing through him, because Beetee sighs and nods.

"I'll show you where her office is. Follow me," he says, and maneuvers his wheelchair around the corner of his workspace as he heads to the door.

His mind is blazing, his heart beating like a thunderstorm in his chest, and all Finnick can think about is how he has allowed himself to be so blinded by a woman he has always thought of as the silliest socialite in Panem.


	41. Endlessly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Finnick gets to the bottom of the latest mystery concerning the woman he loves, and President Snow questions Sil.
> 
> This is a slightly shorter chapter. The next one will make up for it! Hope you all enjoy, and have a great few days until the next update :)

 

**Chapter Forty One | Endlessly**

" _Deep down in her heart she had always vaguely felt that his foolish inanities, his empty laugh, his lazy nonchalance were nothing but a mask that the real man, strong, passionate, willful, was there still – the man she had loved, whose intensity had fascinated her, whose personality attracted her, since she always felt that behind his apparently slow wits there was a certain something which he kept hidden from all the world, and most especially from her." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

President Coin is in a meeting, but that doesn't stop Finnick from barging in despite the way the guards at the door attempt to stop him. The moment the door is thrown open, all voices within the room halt immediately, and Finnick steps inside without bothering to ask for permission. He is past the point of caring. He wants answers.

An older woman with severe, straight silver hair turns to appraise him with a raised brow. She must be the president of this wayward rebel district. Finnick knows power when he sees it. It's suffocated him long enough for him to spot easily enough. Plutarch Heavensbee is also in attendance, as well as Haymitch Abernathy and a few other people Finnick has never seen before. All of them stand up at his entrance, looking a little shocked and a little offended simultaneously. Only Haymitch looks unsurprised as he rolls his eyes at his entrance and remains sitting.

"…You must be Finnick Odair, Victor of the 65th Hunger Games. Come, take a seat," the president says by way of greeting. She sounds neither annoyed nor taken aback at his brusque appearance in her private meeting, and gestures to an open chair with a pensive expression on her face as if she's been expecting him all this time.

Finnick doesn't move until Haymitch catches his eye and gives him a look. The look is so impatient that Finnick sighs and approaches the chair without any further hesitation.

"We've been awaiting your arrival for several weeks," Coin says, leaning back in her seat and resting her hands atop the gleaming metal tabletop that they are all occupying. Her fingers thread together and her eyes seem to stare right though him.

Her words make Finnick pause and scrub at his face. Instead of responding to them, though, or asking about these plans that have apparently been in the making for weeks without his knowledge, he asks, "Who is the Sterling Nightingale?"

He needs confirmation. A straight forward answer. No more cloak and dagger, no more hiding in the shadows. He catches the president's eye with blazing determination and she hums.

"I do believe you already know," she muses, studying his face and the tense set of his shoulders. "Is this why you interrupted our meeting? To ask me what you're already aware of?"

Across the table, Haymitch crosses his arms with a sigh and turns his gaze to the ceiling, looking bored.

Finnick spares him a glance and drawls, "I was under the impression that the Nightingale was a man, and that he makes a living breaking people out of the Capitol. Am I wrong?"

Coin looks amused by this. Her lips form a thin line that appears to be hiding a smile and she responds breezily, "It seems your impressions of the Nightingale are based exclusively on Capitol propaganda, Mr. Odair. Our Nightingale isn't simply a jailbreaker; she's a spy. And she's not a man either, for that matter. Do you have any further questions?"

The tone of her voice is almost sarcastic, shrouded just so in a professional light that makes it sound skewed. Finnick clenches his jaw.

"I have so many questions I don't know where to start," he mutters. Haymitch sighs again and this time, Finnick spears him with a glare.

"The kid's been in the dark this entire time, Madam President," Haymitch says, twisting the president's title into a sarcastic drawl which reflects the way he usually treats authority figures. He glances at Finnick shrewdly and adds, "Don't forget, he's been in close proximity with Cornelius for months now. The truth is even harder to grasp for him, considering how well she plays her part."

Haymitch doesn't usually take the role of mediator, but his words seem to do the trick well enough. Plutarch makes a sound of agreement and Coin nods slowly.

She turns to Finnick and says in an overly polite, falsified tone, "Do excuse me, Mr. Odair. It's been a trying few weeks here in District 13. With the Capitol now doubly aware of our existence, my attention has been split several ways. The Sterling Nightingale is indeed the woman you suspect. Silver has been a part of our organization since she won her games. Her role in the Capitol is far more intricate than you think."

As if Haymitch's previous insinuation hadn't been confirmation enough, the truth is now openly on the table. Finnick closes his eyes briefly as it rattles through him, stark and clear. He takes a moment to let it sink in before murmuring, "Just how intricate is it?"

Gentle silence lilts through the room at his question. He opens his eyes when it is not immediately answered. Plutarch sighs.

"He has a right to know, Madam President," the previous Gamemaker says. Coin rubs her forehead, looking a tiny bit annoyed.

"…This is highly classified information, Odair," she says, not bothering with her polite tone as she had before. Her voice is hard now, encased with a no-nonsense quality that makes Finnick sit straighter in his chair.

"I want the Capitol to fall just as much as you do," Finnick says with a resolution that seems to make her relax, though only marginally.

She stares at him for a long moment and at last explains, "Seven years ago, Silver was recruited into our organization. After she won her games, she'd already worked up a reputation through her connections and was in prime position in society to act as our eyes and ears. She is no more a jailbreaker than I am a peasant, Mr. Odair. Silver is our greatest asset. She's been spying on Snow for years now, sending us information as well as funding our cause." Coin pauses, and adds in an offhand voice, "In her spare time, she does occasionally send us refugees as well – though the Capitol doesn't like to broadcast her success."

Throughout all this, Finnick stares at the president with an almost blank expression. He is grasping at straws, trying to put it all into perspective. The problem is not that he doesn't see it – it's that he sees it almost too well. Everything, from her insipid mannerisms to her posh wording and the way she treats her 'friends in the Capitol' all fits together so seamlessly that he simply cannot believe he had ever missed it in the first place.

"Snow told me she sends rebels to the executioner," he says in an almost vague voice. His eyes shift to stare sightlessly at the tabletop. The gleaming metal looks cold and dull in the harsh overhead lights.

Coin raises an eyebrow at this and laughs, "Did he also mention that every one of those rebels are broken out of prison and sent here before their death sentence is even decided?"

Finnick's head jolts up so quickly that his neck aches in protest – as does his headache, which flares back up earnestly as if reminding him of its presence.

"She saves them? She gets them out?" he asks hastily, scrabbling with all this new information.

Coin stares at him intensely for a long moment. "You know, Finnick," she says slowly, "not everyone can say they're married to one of the most brilliant women in history. I wouldn't be so quick to judge our Nightingale. She's shown more bravery in the last seven years than all my men put together."

He swallows tightly. "She lied to me countless times, and then sent me here without so much as a warning – she  _drugged_  me to do it!"

Coin tilts her head an inch to the side but remains silent. Plutarch exchanges a glance with Haymitch. Finnick notices at once, and angrily asks, "You knew, didn't you Haymitch? Does everyone know? Am I the  _last_  to find out?"

Haymitch clears his throat as the attention falls on him. He mutters, "Plutarch told me before the Quell. And yeah, I think you are."

His words, as usual, do not make Finnick feel any better. He glares at the older Victor, who challenges him with a glare of his own.

"It was Sil's decision to keep you in the dark, Finnick," Plutarch supplies, trying to break up the stifling silence. "She seemed to think it would be safer for you, and easier to get you out of the Capitol when the Quarter Quell didn't go quite as we planned."

Finnick laughs and rubs a hand over his forehead. "Safer for me? That's kind of hypocritical, isn't it? She's all alone in the Capitol. Felix already makes her life a living hell, and without me there to protect her – "

He clamps down on the rest of his words with a vengeance. No point thinking too far ahead, despite his worry. He's feels angry with her for lying about her identity. But even so, his concern rises up within him as quickly as his surprise from before, and suddenly he can't stop thinking about her being all alone with Felix and Snow breathing down her neck.

His head spins with this cocktail of emotion. Anger that she hadn't trusted him enough to tell him the truth of her character – that she hadn't thought he was strong enough to handle it. Frustration that she had kept all of these secrets to herself for so long, instead of sharing her burdens with him. Resignation that there is nothing he can do about it now. Worry that he is here in District 13 without her – that she had sent him to safety without saving herself, too.

What will happen to her now? Surely, his absence from the Capitol will not go unnoticed. He's one of the most well known Victors in Panem. President Snow would never let him go so easily. He'll take his anger out on Sil, because she is there and because she is the stupid blonde Victor who can't defend herself –

Isn't she? He scrubs at his face and sighs, hardly knowing what to think of her. If she's truly the Sterling Nightingale, then she can protect herself, but she's so delicate, and petite, and Finnick can't imagine how she'll be able to manage keeping herself safe in that city.

Coin lifts a hand to rub at her eyes. "She's been by herself for years before you came along, Mr. Odair," she tells him. "Trust me when I say she doesn't need your protection. As for lying to you, I have a feeling you'll find it in yourself to forgive her."

He turns to look at her in confusion and she smiles. "You love her, don't you."

It isn't a question.

He opens his mouth to refute her words – or to accept them, he's not entirely sure – when Haymitch barks out a laugh and answers for him.

"The kid's so in love with her he can't even see straight. And to think Sil was so worried about telling you. I told her it'd all work out." He laughs again and sends Finnick a leering grin.

Finnick, utterly lost for words, just sits back and remains silent. He usually has something to say even in the wildest situation, but he can't claim he's ever been in a situation quite like  _this_  before.

"…I could really use a drink," Finnick says at last. A good strong one.

Haymitch snorts.

"You and me both, kid," he mutters. "Being sober is pretty shitty."

* * *

President Snow's office has never seemed so despondent before now, and Sil isn't being dramatic about that. No, but she is being dramatic in other ways. The tears running down her cheeks are partially fake, but hold a sliver of truth that she allows to come through. She rarely gives into such emotional outbursts, but she's throwing down the last of her cards today in hopes that her hysteric sorrow is convincing enough for her dear President.

Snow doesn't appear to be all that impressed. He coldly watches her sniffling face from his desk chair, fingers woven together like a net atop the cool mahogany surface. He hasn't tried to console her and she doesn't expect it of him. His heart is too cold for that; his mind an iron trap waiting for her to falter. Instead she just cries harder.

"Let's go over this again," Snow says in an alarmingly calm voice. "I'm not quite sure I've grasped your stupidity yet."

Sil hiccups and groans, "I – yes, c-c-certainly, President S-Snow – "

"Do shut up, Silver," he snaps, flinching slightly at her uneven voice, which is pitched high with panicked misery. "This behavior is unbecoming of my Victors."

Sil hiccups again but falls silent, swallowing her tears with wide, red-ringed eyes. She peers up at him with what she hopes is a frightened expression and her lower lip trembles, but her efforts to clamp down on her sobs are fairly successful.

Snow stares at her hard, and calmly murmurs, "…Now. You had just stepped out onto the balcony of your room to get some fresh air. When you went back inside, Finnick was acting strangely. Is that right?"

Sil nods, staring down at the rug with a morose expression. Her fingers are claws in her lap, her knuckles white. She knows she looks a wreck – her haphazard outfit and unstyled hair doesn't help her, but that is the precisely look she is trying to cultivate. Panic so extreme that her insipid alter ego wouldn't be able to even dress appropriately for a visit with the President himself.

"I – I asked him if there was anything wrong, but he just told me he was waiting for someone." She lifts her wide eyes to the President's and hiccups, "I th-think he was talking about  _rebels!"_

Snow rolls his eyes and seems so aggravated with her that he grinds out,  _"Undoubtably_  – we've already reached that conclusion. So you thought  _nothing of it,_  naturally, when he told you he was expecting someone on your  _wedding night?"_

His sarcastic drawl makes her tighten her mouth in what looks like shame.

"…I thought he was going to surprise me with something," she mumbles, and pulls her bottom lip into her mouth as if she is seconds away from bursting out into more tears. Her eyes water and Snow heaves an annoyed sigh.

"Surprise you?" Snow demands, "That boy doesn't even  _love_  you, Silver. I forced him to marry you. Without my intervention, you would never have even entered a relationship. Do you think a rebellious traitor like Finnick Odair could ever love the Capitol's lapdog?"

This time, Sil isn't entirely faking the way a few errant tears fall from the corners of her eyes. She rocks forward on the couch she's seated on and buries her face into her hands with a miserable moan. The pathetic sight of her makes Snow's lip curl in disgust.

"When the room service cart came, what did Finnick do?" he grinds out, barely able to keep his voice steady for all the anger washing through it. He can't be held responsible for his fury. Not when Finnick Odair seems to have secreted out of the Capitol in the night, without Sil even realizing it until the morning. How she can be so stupid, he cannot fathom.

The other Victors, he let go. He'd known the rebels had planned to rescue them last night. He wanted them to take them off his hands. He  _ruined_  Peeta – it will be interesting to see how it will throw a wrench into Katniss's determination to bring the Capitol down. But the other Victors aside, Snow hadn't been quite finished with Odair yet. He was not expecting him to escape. Or for him to be so heartless that he would leave his new wife behind in his enemy's hands, no matter how  _stupid_  Sil is.

The last remaining Victor in the Capitol sniffles wretchedly and shakily says, "H-he kn-knocked me o-out! A-and when I came to, it was m-morning and h-he was gone!" She rubs her head as if to annunciate her injury.

Snow sighs and leans forward. He grumbles a bit to himself and then says in a louder voice, "Felix!"

The summons makes Sil freeze as cold fear grips her heart. She peers up at Snow imploringly, only to find that he is watching her with dark eyes swimming in fury. The door of his office quietly opens, and dress shoes appear in the corner of Sil's vision. She doesn't turn to look at Felix, though. She cannot.

Likewise, Snow doesn't glance over at his lapdog either. He stares hard at Sil when he orders, "Take Mrs. Odair down below and give her a warm reception. Perhaps a week in the cells will help her understand her own idiocy."

Sil hiccups again. The sound seems to drive his point home.

Felix clears his throat and nods. He turns to Sil and roughly drags her to her feet. His hands barely linger on her, as if he thinks she is a disgusting, miserable wretch unworthy of his attention. She is glad for it, despite the fear that comes unbidden to her eyes as she turns to the President and begs "Pl-please, President Snow! I h-had no idea these were his plans! I'm innocent in all this – please – "

"Get her out of my sight, Felix," Snow mutters, turning back to his paperwork with barely a second glance at her. Felix, all too happy to obey like the mindless drone he is, shoves her toward the door without another word. She wails a bit as she goes, shoulders shaking, and knows her act is only making them ever more disgusted with her.

To be honest, she feels rather disgusted with herself, too, but she must appear as pathetic as she can during the next few weeks. Until District 13 is ready to launch an attack on the Capitol, Sil must stay as far below the radar as she possibly can. The best way of doing that is by making the President think that she is as deplorable as she's ever been.

By the looks of it, she's been pretty successful at cultivating such an image thus far.

To be knocked out by your own husband and left for dead on your wedding night is fairly pathetic, after all, and that is exactly the story she has told Snow upon his questioning of her. She figures that, at the very least, it will be good enough to give her just enough cover where he won't suspect  _her_  for being the actual traitor.

It won't save her from Felix, though. She's anticipated this, however. She's known that she would be at his mercy. She is prepared for it…or so she thinks.

If she thought the last few weeks had been torture enough, the next few will redefine all that she assumes to know about Snow and Felix's torment. And without Finnick by her side, her misery will hit a new low. She has already accepted that she loves him, but she hasn't quite realized just how much his silent strength comforts her.

She will, before all this is over.


	42. Inhaling you is like

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Finnick begins to grow accustomed to District 13 and Sil is at Felix's mercy in the Capitol.
> 
> Thanks for all the reviews! This chapter is one of my favorites. Hope you all enjoy!

 

**Chapter Forty Two | Inhaling you is like**

" _She looked through the tattered curtain, across at the handsome face of her husband, in whose lazy blue eyes, and behind whose inane smile, she could now so plainly see the strength, energy, and resourcefulness which had caused the Scarlet Pimpernel to be reverenced and trusted by his followers." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

District 13 is ever the strange, unlikely place it had been when Finnick first opened his eyes to it. After a week of living there, it has still not gotten any less strange.

He has been assigned a room and a job. His room is in the same wing as his fellow Victors, and is a tiny square-by-square container that holds a bed and a dresser and nothing else. His job isn't so much a job as it is a training regime. Coin wants him on the front lines, and so she sends him down to learn how to handle a gun – a weapon Finnick has never before even held.

Guns are expensive and only Peacekeepers have them. They are kept under careful lock and key so they don't fall into the hands of anyone outside the police force. But here in District 13, everyone knows how to shoot one. Even young kids go down to the training area with their parents or friends. It is as common as breathing here, and Finnick is a just tiny bit embarrassed that a thirteen year old boy seems to have more talent with firing than he does. Of course, he picks it up soon enough. He is Finnick Odair, after all, and he's got very good aim from hurling tridents around his whole life.

"You're getting better," Katniss says as she approaches him, decked out in her navy jumpsuit. Her hair is swinging at her back in a loose braid. Some of it has gotten free and frames her face in gentle tendrils.

His living quarters and job aren't the only things that have changed in Finnick's life. He, too, has been given several jumpsuits. Gone are the days of having a full wardrobe. Now every article of clothing he owns is navy blue and identical to everyone else. It's disconcerting.

Sil would be utterly horrified.

The thought sweeps through him so suddenly that his breath catches. These types of thoughts have been recurring as of late, and they always take him aback because right after he thinks them, he realizes that Sil would probably not even care. After all, she's not the foppish socialite he always assumed her to be: she's the Sterling Nightingale, and the Nightingale wouldn't think twice about wearing a scratchy jumpsuit if it meant she is doing something to bring down the Capitol.

That is even  _more_  disconcerting.

He glances at Katniss with a grimace that's mostly due to his wayward thought process, but she takes it to mean something different, which he is grateful for.

Nodding at his target, Katniss says, "You're doing better than I did, when I first started. Don't worry, it'll come to you quickly enough."

Finnick can't help but chuckle. He shakes himself of his thoughts of Sil and focuses on the task at hand, muttering, "You seem weirdly happy today. Are you feeling alright?" She scowls at him and he laughs outright. "That's better. Now you look like the Katniss I know."

With a roll of her eyes, Katniss says, "I'm  _trying_  to feel grateful that I'm here. That I'm alive."

Finnick makes a sound in the back of his throat and murmurs, "But you're not, are you? Peeta's not himself and it's making you crazy."

She doesn't answer and he knows he's hit the truth right on the head. For all her dark, brooding qualities, he's always found Katniss to be incredibly easy to read.

"I don't see you acting any better," she says after a long pause. Finnick raises an eyebrow at her. She spears him with a look and adds, "Sil's in the Capitol and that's making  _you_  crazy."

Her words make him pause, this time. He glowers at her and mumbles, "She could've rescued herself. She didn't. She's not my problem anymore."

Katniss shakes her head. "You know," she responds, "I'm pretty sure I hated Sil the moment I met her, but you didn't. You fell head over heels for her – I can see it in your eyes," she says when he opens his mouth to refute her words. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say she was  _never_  your problem. You don't fall in love with someone because you want to fix them. It doesn't work that way."

Finnick laughs bitterly and asks, "What do you know about love? You have no idea what I feel for Sil. Even I don't know."

At this, Katniss raises an eyebrow at him and challenges, "You do know. You just don't want to admit it to yourself. Everyone else can see it plain as day."

He waits for her to elaborate. When she doesn't, he sarcastically drawls, "What, that I'm smitten for the first time in my life? That I don't want anyone but her? That I'm going insane because suddenly, she's not the person I always thought she was?"

He turns to her fully and brashly says, "She's a spy, Katniss.  _The_  spy. The one everyone's always going on about – the one nobody can catch. And I had no idea. She must think I'm a complete idiot for not seeing it.  _I_   _married her_  and I didn't even realize it."

Katniss shrugs and breezily tells him, "So maybe you don't know exactly who Sil is, but you know the important parts. You know what kind of person she is, even if you don't know all her secrets." He stares at her blankly and Katniss rolls her eyes at him. "She might've hidden her true self from Panem, but you've been in close quarters with her for months now. She can't hide everything."

He sighs and turns back to the gun in his hands. It feels heavy and cold between his fingers.

"I'm not sure what to say," he admits, and adds, "It feels weird getting relationship advice from the Girl on Fire, especially since you've been faking your own relationship for about as long as I have." The sarcastic edge of his tone makes Katniss roll her eyes again.

"Oh shut up," she mutters at him, and as she walks away she says over her shoulder, "And stop moping around. It makes you look like a lost puppy."

Finnick huffs. "You make that sound like it's a  _bad_  thing," he breezily replies as he lines himself up to take another shot. He considers the target thoughtfully for a moment, and then with the same inaccuracy that he apparently uses in the rest of his life, Finnick releases the bullet into the outer ring rather than the bullseye. He grumbles to himself.

Nothing's simple anymore.

* * *

Sil loathes these cells. She's been sitting in one for five days now, or so she assumes from the way the clock turns outside of the bars. She's still wearing the same outfit she'd worn to see Snow days before, and makes an attempt at complaining about the tragic state of her expensive clothes every time a guard walks past. It's a shame she can't actually see the guard's expressions when she does so.

As for food, they bring her one meal a day during the afternoon, and it's a sad excuse of one. She's always hungry, and from the way Felix scoffs at her whenever he comes to pay a visit, her hunger is beginning to show on her face.

"You look terrible," he tells her on one such visit, gesturing to the guard to open the cell. As the guard does so, Sil sniffs and crosses her arms, somehow succeeding in looking haughty despite her current predicament. It's a talent of hers.

"Why thank you, Felix, truly – you do know how to make a girl feel beautiful," she sighs, staring up at the ceiling disinterestedly.

Felix just rolls his eyes at her and steps forward. A moment later, he's reaching down and tugging on her arm, wrenching her up from her cot with one powerful pull. Sil gives a startled shriek and lands against his chest, face smashed into his collar. Shock fills her, quickly followed by disgust when she feels Felix's hands rise to grasp her waist.

He chuckles darkly. The sound drifts over her hair, where his lips linger.

"You  _will_  be thanking me soon enough," he smirks, pulling away to glance down at her face. "Snow's given me permission to remove you from the cells. Instead, I'll be taking you home."

Sil looks incredibly relieved and says, "Oh  _finally_. I've been longing for my bed and a nice hot shower…"

Her words make Felix's smirk widen, for some reason. She blinks at him curiously, with growing horror when she hears him laugh and calmly reply, "Don't be ridiculous, Silver. You can't return to your apartment. No – I'll be taking you home with me."

She immediately tries to pull away, but Felix clamps his hands down around her and drags her from the cell with a dark, triumphant grin.

"Oh don't worry, Silver, I have a nice bed at my place too, and I'm sure a hot shower would do us both some good." He laughs at the way she struggles weakly against him.

When they get to the entrance of the prison, Sil gasps, "I'm a married woman now! You can't just – just – "

"You're nothing but a naïve child, Silver. Besides, I've always wanted to test Finnick Odair's ability to please a woman. You'll let me know if I'm better than he is, won't you?" He gives her a cruel push and drags her outside.

"You're disgusting!" Sil snarls, still struggling despite knowing that there's little point. She can't change her circumstances. She's alone here in the Capitol, and there's no one to help her. She had prepared herself for this.

But it feels so much worse than anything she'd imagined. Felix grunts out a laugh and pulls her along with him without breaking a sweat. She's weak from spending the past few days in a cell with little food or water. Her lips are parched and cracked, and the once healthy glow of her skin has turned to a chalky pallor. Her clothes are torn and dirty, her hair is a mess, and frankly, she looks nothing like Silver Lamprey Cornelius ought to look. But it can't be helped.

Felix brings her to his apartment anyway, and the torture she has suffered since the Victors escaped the Capitol only continues to worsen.

* * *

By the second week of living in 13, Finnick has finally memorized the way to all the main departments of the district without getting lost. He no longer needs to ask for directions to the training facilities, or have someone escort him to the hospital, where he's had to stop in a few times just to make sure the drug hadn't had any side effects or some such thing.

He's also begun to get used to the way things work around the district. The laundry department is in motion seven days a week, washing jumpsuit after jumpsuit, but he and everyone else could only have theirs washed every three days, no exceptions – even if he spills tomato sauce all over the front. He has a feeling that this is one of the reasons why they're navy blue and not bright yellow. He figures this rule must be in place to save energy and water, as well as give the laundry department a more achievable schedule.

The training facilities are always packed with citizens, most of which are scheduled to be there at their specified time. District 13 teaches all of its people how to fight, even the ones who are not yet old enough to go to war. The first time Finnick saw the group of children on the wrestling mats, he felt his stomach clench. It had been the first similarity he'd found between this place and the Capitol, and he had not liked that.

But - he pushes it from his mind in favor of other pursuits, such as recalling how the cafeteria works.

There are actually several cafeterias in various places within the district, but Finnick and the other Victors usually use this one because it's close to both the hospital and to their assigned rooms – two places that they spend the majority of their free time.

When Finnick sidles into the large room, he immediately notices that Katniss and that Gale fellow are already seated at their usual table, along with Annie. Even Johanna has managed to drag herself out of the hospital, where she's been since her arrival in 13. To be honest, Finnick isn't entirely sure she's even allowed to be out here, but he makes no mention of it. Johanna doesn't follow orders very well; it's part of her charm.

The concept of rationing food is not new to Finnick, which is why he hardly complains when he heads up to the cafeteria staff and only receives a watery bowl of stew and a slab of warm bread. Their stew leaves much to be desired. He knows from experience.

He heads back to the table dreaming of seafood and the briny taste of shellfish. He's always taken advantage of his district's go-to form of sustenance, but how he longs for a slab of bluefish now – sprinkled with lemon and maybe marinated with his mother's favorite recipe…even Sil wouldn't be able to complain about  _that_.

The thought makes him pause in the midst of pulling out his chair, and the other Victors turn to look at him. Finnick clears his throat and sends them a charming smile as he takes his seat.

"Good evening," he greets extravagantly. "I see the menu tonight is watery soup again – Johanna, what are  _you_  eating?" he asks, suddenly glancing over to see that her meal is different from the rest of the table's.

Johanna turns to him with a wide smirk and says, "Steak and mashed potatoes."

His jaw drops.

"Why do you get steak and potatoes, and I only get watery stew?" he asks incredibly, leaning closer to get a better look at her plate. In response, Johanna snorts and moves her entire chair away from him, dragging her dinner with her as if she's afraid that he'll try to grab it.

"I'm still recuperating, therefore I get actual food," she informs him with a mischievous smile, and he turns back to his stew with a mournfully dramatic sigh.

Annie giggles. "Cheer up, Finnick. It's not so bad. This time, they added different spices."

Finnick raises a wry brow and mumbles, "What culinary geniuses."

Katniss and Gale, who haven't bothered to join in, just share a look and continue eating. At this point, Gale has grown used to Finnick's ways. Finnick likes to complain about their meals. He's probably used to eating more lavishly, but Gale is just happy to have something warm.  _He's_  used to going without entirely.

"How was your day?" Annie asks, directing her question to Finnick. She's already half finished with her meal, having come down to the cafeteria before him. She pushes a few soggy looking carrots around in her bowl and takes a drink of water.

Finnick shrugs. "Alright. Haymitch tried to wrangle me into searching for more booze today."

Everyone at the table rolls their eyes. Haymitch has been a complete menace since coming to 13. Lately, he's gotten into the habit of pulling them all aside and trying to rope them into helping him, claiming that he 'can't survive another day without a drink'. From the dark circles beneath his eyes and the altogether unhealthy tint of his skin, Finnick partially believes him. That doesn't mean he's going to do what the older Victor asked though. He's trying to stay on Coin's good side, that way she'll let him join the war efforts.

"Just threaten to talk to Coin about it and he'll stop pestering you," Katniss mutters, sounding knowledgeable. She's obviously used that tactic herself. Finnick chuckles, completely unsurprised.

"Where is Haymitch, anyway?" Gale speaks up, glancing around the cafeteria as if he expects the Victor to bear down on them without warning, but the older Victor is nowhere to be found.

Katniss shrugs, "He's probably wallowing in his room."

"Or with Plutarch and Coin," Johanna cuts in, her mouth full with mashed potatoes. "I always see them together." They all raise their eyebrows at her and she makes a face. "What? You think I actually listen to those ridiculous doctors when they tell me to stay put? As if."

Johanna, ever rebellious even in the smallest of ways, looks much better than she had when she first came to District 13 a week and a half ago, but it still pains Finnick to look at her too closely. She looks nothing like the way he remembers, and it frightens him a little. With her shaved head and sunken eyes, she's obviously been through the wringer in the Capitol. It scares him to wonder if Sil is also going through hell. She must be.

He takes a bite of stew and doesn't respond, instead content to listen as Katniss and Johanna get into another one of their petty arguments. From the faint glint of amusement in both their voices, Finnick's got a feeling that it's some weird form of womanly bonding or some such thing.

He's just about to bite into his bread when suddenly the TV screen in the center of the room flashes to life in a myriad of neon colors. The suddenness of it startles him, though he should be used to it by now. It's not irregular for the TV to randomly turn on while they're eating. Coin allows them to do so whenever there's some kind of important interview going on in the Capitol that she wants her people to see. Keeping up to date on the goings-on of their enemy is something she takes very seriously.

Except this time…this time, it isn't some random interview between Capitol officials, or a message from President Snow about the rebels, or anything of that nature. This time, it's Caesar Flickerman and –

"Oh my God," Johanna mutters as she turns to stare at the screen. Silver Lamprey Cornelius is walking across the stage – no, prancing, more like, as if she's as excited to be there as any high rolling Capitolite.

Finnick stares in open mouthed shock and drops his bread right into his stew without even realizing it. He's too busy studying her, catching onto the little details of her appearance. For the first time since he's known her, she's actually wearing something other than a dress to an interview of this caliber. Instead of her usual long skirts, Sil is outfitted in a pair of tight black jeans and a smart looking silk button up. She's wearing a lapeled jacket over it, and around her neck is a scarf that he immediately recognizes as the one he had meant to buy her in Gigi's before the Quarter Quell.

Emerald silk studded through with pearls.

Had she gone back to purchase it? He hadn't known, but what he does know is that it seems almost like a message – to him. She is extremely picky when it comes to her outfits. She wouldn't wear that scarf unless there was a purpose to it.

He pushes his hands into his lap and clenches his jaw as he watches her shake Caesar's hand and flounce to her seat. She looks…alright, upon first glance. But Finnick can tell that something is off about her. Her eyes, which usually sparkle, are dull, and even her make-up can't completely hide the bruises beneath them.

" _Silver Silver Silver,"_ Caesar tuts as he crosses one leg over the other. His expression crests into something that resembles pity.  _"We are sorry to call you out here like this – but it's been almost two weeks since your wedding and we simply cannot wait another moment! We're all in such suspense!"_

There is a faint sound of the crowd shouting out their agreement, though through the TV, it's soft and barely heard. Sil turns to the crowd and places a hand over her heart as if she is thankful. This would normally be the time where Finnick would expect Johanna to snort at Sil's actions, but the other Victor remains oddly silent as they all peer at the screen with discerning eyes.

" _Now we've all heard the rumors, my dear. They're saying that your husband abandoned you on your wedding night! Is it true?"_

Finnick starts coughing violently at this, shocked. Is this her cover up? He's not really sure if he feels proud of her or annoyed that she pulled his name through the dirt. At this point, it probably doesn't matter anyway.

Sil sniffles a bit and smiles sadly at Caesar, her eyes flashing with something akin to sincerity. It takes Finnick's breath away.  _"Gracious,"_  she trills, and he's never been happier to hear her silly way with words in all his life.  _"It's all a blur to me you know. I'm afraid I can't give you the specifics, darling. I spent most of the night blacked out."_

At this, Caesar looks even more pitiable, and reaches forward to pat Sil's knee.  _"Well, we're just happy that we still have one Victor who is loyal to us. You truly are our finest star, Silver!"_

Sil beams widely at him and blushes prettily when the crowd screams out in agreement. Finnick nearly believes that she's as happy as she looks. It's more difficult than he'd imagined, putting her new identity up to her old one. She makes it very hard to merge them together.

" _You're really too kind, Caesar darling,"_ Sil chirps.

Caesar chuckles and asks,  _"What have you been up to these past few days, Silver? We haven't seen any trace of you. I was getting worried, you know."_  He winks at her and she laughs, leaning forward to rest her elbow on her knee. She looks completely unconcerned and absolutely fine with her lot in life. The naïve mask she wears is as solid as always, and again, Finnick has trouble remembering that she is really not naïve at all, and that this is all a front. She's very good at this.

" _No need to be concerned, my love,"_ Sil sighs, batting his words away with a wave of her hand.  _"I've been busy you know. Our dear President has been so very generous since that dreadful accident during the honeymoon. He's given me my very own guard! I've taken him to Gigi's twice already. I've come to the decision that Peacekeepers look quite good in cravats, darling."_

Caesar bursts into laughter at this and Sil winks at the crowd, but Finnick wades through her words carefully and wonders at their meaning. A guard? Despite the breezy way she skims over this fact, Finnick knows that it isn't a good thing. It means that Snow doesn't trust her to do anything or go anywhere without a retinue of men to watch her every movement. He just hopes that's all they do, and that their presence doesn't translate to any of the torturous methods he knows they are capable of.

" _Did you buy that scarf there on one of your recent shopping expeditions? I've never seen you wear it,"_ Caesar prompts, and Sil chuckles.

" _I've had it in my closet for a while, just waiting for the perfect debut,"_ is all Sil says, but then she does something she's never done before – she looks straight at the camera for a split second, and Finnick feels like he's drowning in that brief moment beneath the weight of her gaze. She knows he's watching. Or at least, she suspects it.

As if Caesar is somehow able to follow Finnick's train of thought, the wildly dressed Capitolite turns to Sil and asks,  _"How are you taking this insane rebellion, my dear? Did you ever suspect that any of your Victor friends were rebels?"_

Finnick's not sure if the question is supposed to be a form of proving Sil's own guilt in front of the whole of Panem, as if he's trying to frame her into admitting that she had been aware – that she'd played her part, too. However, Sil just pushes out her bottom lip childishly and shrugs, looking so inanely unconcerned that Finnick has to forcefully remind himself that she's  _acting_ , and not  _really that_  stupid. He's starting to feel slightly better about not realizing her true identity sooner, now that he's seeing her again. Even if it's through a TV screen, her acting is superb.

" _Isn't it positively dreadful, Caesar?"_ she asks with big eyes.  _"Why, I never got along very well with them all, but to think they were all such evil people! I truly had no idea."_  She shakes her head as if she feels sorry for them.

Caesar nods agreeably and makes a sad face,  _"I'm sure we all feel the same way, Silver. But what about Finnick? Did you really not suspect him during your time together?"_

Sil puffs out her cheeks and looks at once incredibly sad, as if the mention of his very name is a weight that she cannot be rid of. Finnick can't quite tell if it's sincere or not, but the look Katniss shoots him from across the table makes him wonder.

" _I suppose it was silly of me, to not realize sooner,"_  Sil slowly says.  _"Looking back, there were many things that might have alerted me to his part in the rebellion…but when I was around him, I hardly noticed. I was in love, you know, and they say that love has a terrible tendency of blinding you."_

His breath shudders passed his lips. Sincere, or not? He can't tell and it's making him crazy.

" _They do indeed,"_ Caesar responds morosely, as if he's sharing her pain. Finnick decides that Sil isn't the only great actor on that stage. After a beat of silence, Caesar says,  _"If he could hear your voice, what would you say to him?"_

Sil stares at Caesar silently. Finnick barely even realizes he's leaning forward in earnest, hardly breathing for fear of missing any word that comes from her lips.

It seems like forever passes between Caesar's question and Sil's response, though in actuality, it's barely a few seconds. Sil leans back in the seat and slowly says,  _"I hardly know, Caesar. Ever since the beginning of March, I've been swept up in the very same daydream I've had since I was a fifteen year old girl, imagining how my wedding would look like."_

Perhaps it is the slow, meandering tone of her voice or the hooded shape of her eyes, but…it almost sounds as though she is referring to something completely different than what she verbally says. Apparently, Finnick isn't the only one to catch on.

"What the hell is she on about now?" Johanna grumbles to herself, and stuffs a huge bite of steak into her mouth.

"It's code," Katniss suddenly says, leaning forward abruptly and staring at Sil in the screen. No – the Sterling Nightingale. She begins to chuckle across from Caesar, who is looking at her strangely, clearly not fully understanding her bizarre message. Sil hardly seems concerned, as usual, and just beams quietly at the Capitolite.

"March 15th," Katniss says when Finnick turns to look at her questionably. "She's trying to tell us something about March 15."

" _But you know,"_ Sil suddenly adds, leaning forward with an idiotic grin,  _"Even though my marriage to Finnick completely bombed, I'm optimistic that I shan't let it upset me overmuch. Life has a tendency of taking us all by surprise, don't you agree?"_

Finnick turns to Katniss, who glances at him seriously.

"The Capitol is going to bomb us on March 15," Katniss says. He swallows tightly and quickly turns back to the screen, half expecting Snow to have figured it out as well and send Peacekeepers to snatch her away.

But nothing happens. Caesar just mildly agrees with her, despite obviously having no idea what they're talking about any longer, and Sil chuckles again, smiling that too-wide smile. She looks and sounds completely naïve, but in actuality…she's a genius. Finnick runs a hand through his hair as he watches her, hardly able to put two and two together. She just spun Caesar Flickerman for a loop without him even realizing it, and gave away the Capitol's plans as easily as breathing – and no one is the wiser, because…

Because they don't expect her to be able to pull this off. To the Capitol, Sil is a brainless simpleton who cares only for her clothes and material lifestyle. He had thought of her similarly too, because that was what she wanted him to think. It's what she wants everyone to think, because if they assume she's a ditzy fop, then she can do her  _real_  job so much easier.

She really  _is_  spectacular.

He doesn't even realize the admiration that must be on his face until Johanna takes one look at him and rolls her eyes, muttering, "God, you're completely head over heels for her, aren't you? I've never seen such a lovesick expression on your face before."

With a start, Finnick turns back to the table and clears his throat at the way everyone is suddenly watching him. He has to suppress the blush that threatens to weave its way onto his cheeks.

Annie smiles and lays a hand on his arm, "Don't worry, Finnick. Sil is pretty amazing, isn't she? It's just a shame we didn't realize it sooner."

Finnick hums. It truly is a shame. He wonders how his life would have been different had Sil told him about her identity when she still had the chance, instead of keeping it hidden. Would he have been able to admit his love for her sooner, knowing that her intelligence was what fueled the rest of her?

He turns back to the screen as the interview wraps itself up, and watches Sil blow her kisses to the crowd and bask in their attention. Only, now that he knows who she really is, everything in her demeanor seems different. That is not merely Silver Lamprey Cornelius – it's the Sterling Nightingale, the greatest spy in Panem's history, the woman that hides in plain sight. The way her mouth edges up into an amused smirk, and the gleam of intelligence flashing in her gaze, and the almost mischievous way she treats the Capitolites in the crowd…it all translates over into something entirely new.

She is really something else.


	43. Breathing in an entire galaxy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which several realizations are had, by both Finnick as well as Felix.
> 
> This is an important chapter! Finnick isn't the only one who has a startling realization about Sil. I'll let you all read and enjoy without spoiling too much though :)

 

**Chapter Forty Three | Breathing in an entire galaxy**

" _That part he played – the mask he wore…in order to throw dust in everybody's eyes. And all for the sheer sport and devilry, of course! Saving men, women, and children from death, as other men destroy and kill animals for the excitement, the love of the thing." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

Sil's message regarding the planned attack on District 13 puts the entire place in an uproar. President Coin is apparently not the type to idle around waiting for something to happen, because before the day even comes to an end, she's begun preparing.

As workers scuttle around carrying supplies down to the lower levels of the district, Finnick and the other Victors are called to Coin's office. As to the reason for the impromptu meeting, no one knows. Finnick hadn't seen the President since he had barged into her office several weeks previous, demanding answers. He hasn't exactly gone out of his way to see her since then. He still hasn't quite come to terms with the fact that the woman he's fallen in love with is apparently the greatest spy in Panem, and being around Coin and her pretentious smiles makes him feel like an idiot for not realizing it sooner.

Regardless, the Victors make their way to Coin's office early the next morning, stopping at Haymitch's door and dragging him out of bed before continuing on. The older Victor is grumpy this morning and Finnick knows it's because of the lack of alcohol in 13. Haymitch looks absolutely terrible. Finnick can't blame him too much, even though he secretly thinks it's probably better this way – Haymitch is going to kill himself from alcohol poisoning one of these days. The greater part of him knows that it's all just a crutch though. As a Victor, he understands what kinds of nightmares Haymitch suffers from, and he feels pity toward the older man who is suddenly being forced to meet those nightmares head on.

They knock on Coin's door and enter when she gives her permission. The metal office is just the same as it had been the first time Finnick saw it. Cold, colorless, and stark. Coin raises her head when their group steps inside, and gestures to the gleaming metal table at the center of the room. She waits until they're all seated before she rises from her desk to address them.

"I called you all here for one reason," she says, and steps toward them with an expressionless face. Her eyes are just as cold as the rest of the room, and her silver hair and outfit perfectly matches the décor. It's a little jarring.

She takes a look at all of them and pauses. Besides Finnick, there's Haymitch, Annie, Johanna, and Katniss. Five Victors, including Plutarch, who has apparently become some sort of liaison between them and the rest of District 13. Coin gazes at each of them in turn before saying, "War is coming, and it won't happen here in District 13."

Her ominous words make Finnick shift in his chair. He glances over at Haymitch and they exchange a cautious look.

"You mean 13 is going to wage war on the Capitol," Haymitch inputs, seeing through Coin's words without batting an eye. Her meaning had been clear enough, and it is after all the next course of action. If they wait for the Capitol to attack them, then they won't have the upper hand. The Capitol fights dirty, and 13 would just be stuck in the ground with no chance of defending itself.

Coin takes a seat in the chair at the end of the table and crosses her hands on top of the metal surface. "I do. The Nightingale's warning will hopefully be unnecessary. I want our troops infiltrating the Capitol before they have a chance to launch an attack."

Plutarch clears his throat and pips in, "We've decided it would be best to launch our own attack. While the Capitol is distracted, we'll have soldiers infiltrating their walls and getting into position. They won't expect it."

It makes sense, but Finnick can't deny that it's a daring strategy. He stares down at his hands, deep in thought, and purses his mouth. The Capitol will send bombers to 13, but the civilians of 13 will be in the lower levels of the district, safe and protected. A portion of the soldiers will stay behind in case the Capitol has more planned than merely air raids, but the majority of the troops will be whisked into the Capitol while their eyes are turned in the other direction. With luck, the Capitol won't even know what's going on until it's too late.

Haymitch, ever the grumpy voice of reason, drawls, "And how will we infiltrate the Capitol? Their defenses are too strong to just waltz in."

Coin quirks an eyebrow and replies, "We've been getting people in and out of the Capitol for years, Mr. Abernathy. We have a network of safe houses through the districts. The Nightingale will assist in ensuring that the tunnels below the Capitol are available to us, and that is precisely how we'll get our soldiers through."

Johanna laughs sarcastically, "Snow blew up those tunnels years ago."

Plutarch shifts on his feet and smiles, "He certainly did, which is why he doesn't know that they've been reconstructed, and that we've been using them for just as long without his knowledge."

Confused silence perforates the room, until Coin clears her throat and explains, "We've been using those tunnels for a long time now, as an escape route as well as to put undercover agents into place within Capitol society. Snow thinks they're destroyed, but we've rebuilt areas of them for our personal use. To our knowledge, he has no idea that they're in working condition."

 _To our knowledge_  is a frightening set of words. Finnick and the other Victors know Snow better than anyone from District 13. Just because Snow hasn't done anything about the tunnels recently doesn't mean that he's forgotten about them – or, indeed, that he doesn't know they're being used by rebels. He might know and is just waiting for the perfect time to reveal his own plans. With President Snow, anything is possible. It isn't smart to disregard the possibility for something to go wrong.

"March 15th is around the corner," Coin says, voice clear and calm despite the serious message contained within her words. "I want to know if you're going to fight for us – for your freedom." She glances at them each in turn.

Beside him, Annie shifts uncomfortably, and Finnick swallows. Plutarch, ever watchful, notices the movement and calmly adds, "We won't think any less of you if you decide to stay behind, but we could use as many soldiers as possible."

A tight silence descends upon the room. No one seems to want to be the one to break it, until Haymitch clears his throat and grumbles, "I'm too old to fight in a war. I'd be of more use here anyway. Let me into that control room and I can help direct the squads."

Plutarch glances at Coin, as if he's expecting her to immediately refuse. To everyone's surprise though, the president of District 13 merely nods and agreeably responds, "We could use your inside knowledge of the streets. Is there anyone else who wishes to remain here?"

Johanna abruptly says, "There's no fucking way I'm going back there," and leans back to cross her arms over her chest with a look of determination painted on her face.

Meanwhile Annie keeps shifting, as if she's unsure what she wants. Luckily, Finnick knows her well enough to say, "Annie should stay here too." He glances over at his District 4 partner and sees the relief clear in her eyes. She gives him a tentative smile of thanks and he nods.

Coin waits to see if him and Katniss are planning on backing out (though Finnick isn't sure if she'd allow Katniss to anyhow). When they remain silent, she nods and says, "Beetee will of course stay behind. Finnick, Katniss, you should go to him when you have a free moment. He has weapons for you. You should become comfortable with them before we leave."

Before the meeting is over, Coin lays down some of their plans and makes sure the Victors are aware of the details. When she's sure everyone is, she waves them off. They all amble out one by one, no doubt heading for their quarters. Finnick, though, idles behind rather than following them.

Coin raises an eyebrow at him and he clears his throat awkwardly. "…I was wondering if you've heard any other news about Sil," he says as evenly as he can, though he finds it almost painful to ask. He doesn't like airing his weakness for the blonde Victor so openly in front of this woman, who seems like the type who might use it for her own gain if given the chance.

President Coin stares at him for a long moment before slowly responding, "I haven't. All lines of communication have been cut off from our agents inside the Capitol. It's too dangerous to send any messages to them."

He nods. Of course it's too dangerous. He rubs the back of his neck and starts for the door without another word. Oddly enough, Coin stops him when she says, "You worry for her."

He pauses and turns, a confused expression lingering on his face. She'd said those words as if she can't quite understand why he'd worry at  _all_. Is Sil really that competent, or is Coin just unable to fathom something like love?

"…Yes," he answers, not really sure what to say.

She blinks at him and, to Finnick's shock, her face melts into an expression of maternal gentleness – a hint of softness that he would never have expected to find there.

"I'm glad," she tells him, leaning against the edge of the metal table as she looks at him. "…Silver has been of immense help to us. It's good that she has someone to look after her."

Finnick has no idea what's going on, or why Coin looks like she's feeling some twisted sense of nostalgia, but he'd like to remove himself from this uncomfortable conversation. He clears his throat again and nods, walking the rest of the way to the door and trying not to look like he's moving as fast as he can. But she doesn't stop him again, and as he leaves, he can't help but think that he's missing something else – as usual. It seems that these days, he misses a hell of a lot. And, in keeping to this apparent theme, he very nearly misses something else, too.

Or, more precisely, someone.

He steps through the door of Coin's office with his head down, musing over the strange smile she had worn upon mention of Sil. His thoughts are a whirlwind these days. They seem to be rife with a confusing array of clarity and uncertainty. He knows that part of the reason for this is due to the looming war and everything it entails, but the majority of it has far more to do with a certain blonde haired Victor.

He hardly knows what to think of her. A part of him is so immensely glad to know that there is so much more to her than he had thought. It is, admittedly, an almost selfish consideration, because it makes him feel better about being so in love with her. He's always figured that his ideal match would be someone mischievous and amusing, with enough wit to keep him on his feet. Yet Sil, or at least the version of her that he has come to know, had been so very different from this idealistic image. Perhaps that is why he'd always been a bit uncomfortable with admitting that he's grown to feel more strongly for her than he had in the beginning. But now –

The real Sil, the one without the masks and the airs, is everything he would have ever wanted. It's disconcerting to think about with too much depth, because another part of him also feels angry.

He pauses in the hallway with his hands in his pockets and sighs. Anger isn't quite the right word to describe the storm that drives through him whenever he thinks of her. A better word is  _betrayed_.

Maybe it isn't fair of him, but he can't help but wonder if she's spent the last few months laughing at him behind his back. If all of her simpering smiles had been due to the fact that he had been so utterly blind to the obvious, and that spinning him in circles had all been some entertaining game to her. He wonders if anything she has said to him is true. If any of her affections should be trusted. He's reread her letter a thousand times by now, but he can't help but doubt the flourish of her words.

He sighs again and starts to walk again, lifting his head as he approaches the end of the hallway. But then – he is brought to an abrupt halt, because suddenly his gaze is clashing with sparkling green eyes that are extremely familiar. For a split second, he can't breathe. His heart races into his throat as if it's trying to beat itself out of his body, and all he can do is stare at the wispy platinum blonde hair, the aristocratic features, and the large green eyes of the woman before him.

For a split second, he thinks that it is Sil. And then that moment passes, and the woman in front of him cautiously steps forward and murmurs, "Finnick Odair?"

As if he's been shocked by an errant bolt of lightning, Finnick recoils. The woman pauses at the sight, fingers twisting anxiously in front of her as she stares at him. She seems to know him – or, at least, enough of him to know his name. He realizes, vaguely, that he is being rather rude to this stranger, so he calmly clears his throat and says, "…Yes. That's me."

He wants to ask who  _she_  is, but he isn't sure if that would be even ruder. If he's being completely honest with himself, he already knows the answer anyway.

When the woman hesitantly smiles, the expression is so familiar to him that he feels another bolt of that errant lightning strike somewhere deep within him. The flash of it brings epiphanies and understandings – and another layer of doubtful betrayal.

"I've seen you on television," the woman softly murmurs. Her voice is very proper, though not strictly so. She has a regel bearing that is quite different from any other citizen of this place that Finnick has thus far encountered. And her accent…well, like her smile, that is also a bit too familiar to him. The woman studies his features curiously and adds, "…You seem very close to Silver."

It is the way she says Sil's name, with a gentle, tentative affection, that really hits home. As if everything else about the woman hasn't already formed a dozen red flags, the tone of her voice is enough to slowly wonder, "Who are you?"

The woman just smiles. She looks down at her hands, and Finnick follows her gaze. As his eyes lower, though, he catches sight of the embroidered name tag that is sewn onto her jumpsuit. When he reads the word 'Metallurgist', he almost wants to laugh.

Instead of responding to the question outright, the woman murmurs, "It's been many years since I came to this place, but I've kept track of those outside of District 13. I suppose congratulations are in order?"

At his confused look, her smile tilts up mirthfully and she explains, "Your wedding, of course. Silver looked beautiful. It was aired here in 13, you see."

Finnick opens his mouth, pauses, and then closes it again. He feels distinctly awkward to talk about the wedding with this woman. She must see it in his eyes, because she smiles wider and says, "It was always my greatest wish, that Silver would find someone to look after her the way you do. My own marriage was arranged, you see, but it was so easy to fall in love with my husband. I've always hoped that Silver would experience that as well."

Finnick swallows thickly and clears his throat, looking away from the bright green eyes. He feels the edge of his mouth tilt up in what surely looks like a disparaging smile, because he certainly feels that way when he mutters, "So she brought you here to District 13, and then what? You decided it was a great idea to let her continue to risk her life in the Capitol? If she succeeded with you, then she'd automatically succeed in all her other endeavors?"

There's a hint of sarcasm in his tone that the woman certainly picks up on. Instead of getting upset with him, though, she merely sighs, "I had no idea that Coin would make such an offer to Silver, or that she would take it. I've spent seven years worrying after her, Finnick, but I'm also immensely proud."

The words stir within him a brand of impatience that he cannot quench, and in a tired voice, he demands, "Your name. What is it?"

The woman lifts her chin to stare at him. He holds his breath. He's already prepared to hear it, already knows who she is – but still, somehow, he isn't quite ready for it when she opens her mouth…

But then, suddenly, the door of Coin's office swings open, and the President of District 13 looks out into the hallway and says in a clipped voice, "Aurelian, if you mean to be late to the meeting that  _you_  requested, perhaps we should meet another time. I'm very busy."

And the woman – Aurelian – merely sends Finnick a soft smile and murmurs, "Perhaps we can speak again, Finnick. I haven't seen Silver in years, and I'd…I'd very much like to ask after her."

She doesn't say anything else, but she hardly needs to. This woman, who looks so like Sil, who sticks out like a sore thumb in this bustling district, is none other than Sil's mother.

Aurelian Cornelius. The first refugee. The one who had accidentally started Sil on the path of the Sterling Nightingale.

Finnick doesn't respond, and the woman merely smiles at him again before sweeping past him. And Finnick – he just pushes a hand through his hair and tilts his head back. He wonders, yet again, how he has missed so many things. How he has been so blind to so many hints.

* * *

President Snow's office is abuzz, and has been for the last few weeks. He'd like to say that this is a good thing, but he has yet to truly gain the upper hand with the rebels continuously threatening his authority. He does not, of course, let this information be known to the Capitol or outlaying districts. To the citizens of Panem, their president has everything under control and is more concerned about diplomatic maneuvering than the threat of war. To them, war is far out of reach and life is all the better for it.

Inside his office, however, life has taken a different direction. He spends hours of each day planning tactics with his advisors and works late into the night ensuring that these tactics are well thought out and contain no loopholes that the rebels might take advantage of. The Capitol has been slowly but steadily increasing their security so as not to alarm the citizens or warn the rebels of their movements, but the main defense has been the arduous but necessary installation of thousands of cameras and tech on every street, intersection, and crossway. If the rebels do somehow manage to breach the city, they'll have to get around an endless maze of explosives and traps.

The president has certainly not been idle these past few weeks, but he has been distracted, to a degree, from other things. These matters are brought up quite suddenly that afternoon, when Felix enters his office looking rather harried.

"Mr. President," his second in command says hurriedly, and sets down a familiar bracelet on the tabletop before Snow can even address him. The President glances down at it in contemplation for a moment, recognizing the blue topaz drops that hang off the piece like falling dew.

"You've found something," he correctly guesses, and brings his gaze back up to Felix, who is standing before the desk with a strange, almost baffled expression on his face.

"I – yes, I think so," he hems, shifting on his other foot. "But it doesn't make any sense."

With an arched brow, Snow leans back in his leather chair and crosses his legs. He peers over at Felix carefully, noting the almost frightened way the man is standing.

"…Go on," he orders when Felix remains silent. His voice is a growl of impatience that makes Felix jump – an action rather uncharacteristic of the usually stoic soldier.

Clearing his throat, Felix says, "Our initial reaction to the bracelet was that it was one of Gemma Cornelius's, but our investigators have traced it to a different source. By cross referencing luggage records in our databases, we've discovered that there is one person who carries expensive jewelry into the Capitol every time she travels here. Oddly, she never brings them back with her, and after thoroughly investigating her apartment we still haven't found a trace of even one piece."

He pauses, looks at Snow, and quickly continues. "When we searched her apartment, we found something else. A ledger detailing the expenses and income of her estate. And – it seems that Gemma Cornelius didn't make that bracelet after all. His daughter has inherited the family trade, it seems, but she doesn't sell her pieces to anyone in the Capitol. It's all encrypted in the ledger, but we've deciphered it. There are dozens of pages, but zero sales made on any of the items."

Throughout Felix's rushed speech, Snow leans back and rubs at his forehead tiredly. He's not sure if he's surprised or not. He's not sure about anything.

With a sigh, Snow mutters, "She's funding the rebellion. Isn't she." It's not a question because Snow already knows the answer.

Felix clears his throat and mutters, "…I believe so, sir."

It is so quiet that Felix could have heard the drop of a pin. He watches Snow's expression carefully, bouncing on his feels as if prepared to bolt from the room. He wouldn't, of course – his President would have his head for such an act – but he is ready nonetheless.

But Snow's reaction is far more accepting than he expects. With a sigh, the President nudges one of his pens across his desk and raises his other hand to rub at his forehead. He looks the very image of a disappointed, caring grandfather who has just learned that his family has turned on him. Felix is not fooled. The Victors are not anyone's family – they are a dangerous group completely separate from the rest of them. That much has been made only too clear during the last few weeks.

The silence in the room could have made even the most fearless man tremble. Felix knows only too well that beneath his president's air of disappointment lies a much more vengeful prose.

The seconds seem to drag into eternity, until at last Snow says, "Where is she now?"

Felix swallows tightly and reluctantly responds, "Back in her apartment."

The President turns harsh eyes on him and growls, "You've allowed her to return to her  _apartment?"_  The way Felix immediately cringes doesn't seem to dissipate Snow's anger any. He thunders, "Get her to my office _. Immediately."_

Felix nods and hastily makes his leave before he can be reprimanded more thoroughly. But he knows, when he reaches Sil's apartment twenty minutes later, that future reprimands will be impossible to avoid.

When he steps into the door and sees the smoothly folded piece of paper on the tiled floor below his feet, a sense of dread curdles inside him. It is quickly replaced with fear – and shock so astounding that he can suddenly see his entire life pass before his eyes in mere seconds. For imprinted on the note is a black bird that swoops over the thick parchment in firm inky traces, and the sight of its wings beating through the paper feels like daggers that slip into Felix's fortitude. And spun in cursive handwriting that loops beneath the bird's clawed feet is the catch-22 that makes him curse loudly despite all his sudden, inexplicable fears.

" _Your mistake, darling."_

It is the same handwriting he has stared at for years now, poured over relentlessly to find some trace back to the original writer. The same handwriting that the blasted thief and spy extraordinaire has left behind in his little game of hide-and-seek. And it is only now, after he's spent the last 24 hours staring at Silver Lamprey Cornelius's handwritten ledgers, that he realizes the error that's been evading him all this time.

Silver is not a stupid Victor who scraped by with her life in her Games. She is not a silly socialite with no brain in her overly styled head. And she does not merely fund the rebellion with her jewelry.

She  _is_  the rebellion.

She is the Nightingale.


	44. I might pretend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Gemma and Aurelian remember the past, and the Sterling Nightingale changes course.

 

**Chapter Forty Four | I might pretend**

" _Vainly she tried to shake off an unaccustomed feeling of nervousness: she was trembling from head to foot. A wild, unconquerable desire seized her to see her husband again, at once, if only he had not already started." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

The news spreads like an electric current. The Sterling Nightingale, sought after for years, is a Victor? And not only a Victor, but the silliest Victor in Panem? The news stations are going crazy. Even with the war on their doorstep, they pump out article after article of their findings, exaggerating what they do not know with rumors. Not everyone is all that surprised to hear about Silver Lamprey Cornelius's latest drama, though.

"Some ginger tea, Hale?" Gemma Cornelius wonders as he sees his Head of House pass by the patio's doors. The inquiry immediately has the butler pausing, no doubt assuming that he is being asked to make said tea. When he sees the teapot sitting idly on the silver tray beside his employer, though, Hale merely raises an eyebrow curiously.

Gemma notices and chuckles, "I  _do know_  how to make tea, Hale. It's a fairly simple process."

Hale purses his lips to keep his smile at bay and says as stoically as possible, "Of course, sir." But – the amused gleam in his eyes is not so easily kept down, and Gemma chuckles again.

"Perhaps some fruit slices would be appealing," Hale suggests, ready to head off and prepare some. But, once more, his employer stops him.

Gemma turns to spear him a look and says, "What do you think of my daughter's latest dilemma?"

The suddenness of his question makes Hale raise his eyebrows in surprise, looking down to study his boss. He's worked for the Cornelius family for decades now, living in these halls and running the household with an expertise that comes only from experience. Like everything in this world, there have been times of great joy here, and times of great sadness. Hale has been through them all, and so it doesn't necessarily surprise him that Gemma is asking after his thoughts. What surprises him more is the direction said thoughts.

It isn't every day, after all, that one realizes that the young woman who has grown up under his watchful eye is in fact one of the most well-known rebels in Panem.

Hale shifts in the doorway for a moment before stepping onto the patio and murmuring, "Perhaps I will take a cup of tea." He's about to pour himself one when Gemma himself takes the teapot and does so. As he hands the cup and saucer to his worker, Hale murmurs, "Ah. Thank you."

Though the relationship between the two men has always been a professional one, it's also verged on friendship over the course of Hale's employment. Since Mrs. Cornelius had died years before, Hale has stepped into the role of Gemma's confidant in ways that he hadn't done before. It isn't very surprising that he wishes to know what Hale's thoughts are, despite it being somewhat unconventional.

"Silver has always had a rebellious heart," Gemma murmurs, leaning back in his chair as he looks out over the desert. The stretch of sand is interrupted by hundreds of cacti, and the morning sun breaks over the rocky hills in the far distance in a singularly poetic manner, as if it is breaking through the very center of the world. In a way, it is. The Cornelius Estate is a world of its own, and the news of the Sterling Nightingale's true identity certainly fractures some integral part of this place.

Hale takes a sip of tea before thoughtfully responding, "She was a wild girl." As the ginger invades his senses, Hale chuckles and glances over at Gemma. "Do you recall her eighth birthday, when all she wanted was a bow and arrow?"

Gemma laughs at the memory and fondly remembers, "She used the cacti for target practice. Your hands were in bandages for days after she wrangled you into retrieving her arrows."

Hale smiles and inhales the lingering notes of ginger that wafts up from the teacup before him. He turns his gaze to the desert as a brief silence falls down upon them. And then, after a short beat of it, Hale wonders in a knowing voice, "You knew, didn't you? There's very little that gets by you where it concerns your daughter."

The suspicion is proven true when Gemma shrugs, crossing his legs as he takes a slow sip of his tea before confirming, "Call it a gut feeling. She managed to convince the entirety of Panem, but she failed to realize how well I know her." He sighs, and then murmurs, "Still…she's an adult now. My daughter has grown up on me. How did that happen, I wonder? It seems that just yesterday, she was still a babe in her mother's arms…"

Hale looks over at Gemma, only to see that his face is creased with something resembling sorrow. He doesn't say anything in response. He isn't sure what to say, for when Gemma whispers, "I do hope Aurelius is alright," Hale realizes that this discussion isn't really about Silver at all.

Having not given much thought to Mrs. Cornelius in the wake of Silver's true identity coming out, Hale is left feeling rather shocked as he sits on the patio and watches the sun rise up over the desert. For, if Silver truly is the Sterling Nightingale, then who's to say that Aurelius Cornelius really did die seven years ago in that Capitol prison? The news of the Sterling Nightingale has surely opened many doors this morning. Doors that have been shut and locked tightly for years now, but are slowly being opened once again – little by little, until the sun purges the darkness that has lingered too long in a place it was never meant to exist in.

* * *

When Finnick sees the woman next, it's in the cafeteria. He's on his way to his usual table when he catches sight of the blonde hair and familiar aristocratic features, and it takes him only a moment to change course. The other Victors are curious as to why he takes a seat at a different table instead of their usual one, but Finnick isn't about to let this chance pass him by. It's been several days since he first stumbled into her, and hasn't seen her since.

When he sits down, she looks vaguely surprised, but the smile she sends him once he makes himself comfortable makes it apparent that she doesn't mind the company.

"Sil's middle name is Aurelian," Finnick muses immediately, the moment he takes his seat. Maybe it's rude of him. He doesn't care. He wants answers, and she doesn't seem surprised by it.

The hauntingly familiar face just smiles wider and agrees, "Yes. My husband liked the idea of giving her a name from my family. Once you marry a Cornelius, you tend to lose sight of who you were before. It was a way to remember my heritage."

Her words have a strange effect on Finnick, who can't help but think that they hit a little too close to home.  _He_  has certainly lost sight of who he was before, after all. Sil has turned his entire world upside down in such a stark way that he can hardly remember how his life had been like before she had danced her way into it.

He studies the upturned nose and the glittering eyes that are so similar to him, and wonders, "Your heritage?"

Perhaps getting to know Sil's mother will put things into perspective. Perhaps it will take away some of the burdens that rest on his shoulders – make him see the woman he loves in a different light. A better one.

Aurelius hums thoughtfully. "My father used to create synthetic metals and gemstones, and the trade was passed down to me when I was old enough to learn. Gemma's artistic abilities was what made me fall in love with him after we were married. He would make such lovely pieces…"

Finnick looks down at his dinner and, in an almost offhanded manner, tells her, "Sil does too."

This information makes Aurelius tilt her head. "Does she?" she asks, sounding surprised. Then, with a smile that appears almost sad, she whispers, "Of course she does. Gemma would teach her everything he knows…I've missed quite a lot."

It is the tone of her voice that makes Finnick stare; the lingering sound of a heavy heart sweeping its way into her words and making her sorrow more apparent than she probably means it to be. It has Finnick pausing as he considers the circumstances of the family that he has accidentally tied himself to in so many ways. This woman has been here for seven long years, with only the barest glimpse of the world that she used to be a part of. She is an outsider looking in, as a ghost might peer down through a foggy window into a life that is no longer accessible. She hasn't seen her husband or her daughter for a very long time. What must it be like, he wonders? To be separated from the ones she loves? To be placed in a district that is as different from her home as the moon is from the sun?

He suddenly has a more altruistic outlook on the Cornelius family. On Gemma, who had lost his wife. On Aurelius, who had lost her home. On Sil, who had lost her mother. And yet – she is so incredibly lucky, too, to even have a family still, despite the fact that it is currently split in half.

What he would do to see his parents again. To hear his mother's voice. It's been so long that he can no longer remember the exact planes of her face. She is nothing more than a wispy memory that time has dulled, like sand eroding inch by inch from the line of a shore.

Suddenly Aurelius tears off some of her bread and passes it to him, murmuring, "Eat. You've been assigned to the Star Squad, haven't you? You must keep your strength." Finnick is somewhat taken aback by the concern that he hears in her voice, until she laughs quietly and says, "You are my son-in-law now. My family."

He is a little bit horrified when he feels his eyes water just so. Maybe it's because being accepted by Sil's long lost mother is something of a shock for him. Maybe it's because he's still coming to terms with the fact that Sil's mother is even  _alive_. Maybe it's because he hasn't had a family in so long that he has forgotten what it feels like to be doted on with such maternal care.

He silently reaches for the bread and takes a bite of it without a word, and Aurelian rests her chin on her palm and studies him. He feels a little uncomfortable with her stare, until she smiles, "When Silver was a girl, she was obsessed with the ocean. She wanted to see it so badly that Gemma decided to have a pool installed for her. She would spend hours in it every day, pretending she was a fish…" She trails off and chuckles, "Gemma spoiled her rotten."

Finnick finds himself chuckling too. He isn't surprised to hear about Gemma's tendency to spoil his daughter. What he is surprised to hear, though, is Aurelian's next words.

"She used to say that she was going to find a merman and marry him one day," she laughs, twisting a strand of blonde hair between her fingers. "I guess she found one after all." She sends Finnick an amused look that he can't help but return, because the lightness of her smile is strangely contagious in the darkness of District 13.

Finnick looks down and murmurs, "When she visited District 4, she was afraid of the ocean."

But Aurelius just shrugs and responds, "We're often afraid of the unknown, in the beginning. I suppose that's the beauty of being human, don't you think? Our fears are always evolving."

He hums and glances up at her with a raised eyebrow. When she raises one right back, he says, "You're much more laid back than Sil. If you didn't look like her so much, I'd wonder if you were related at all."

She chuckles, turning back to her meal to take another bite. Her movements are delicate – cultured in a way that is starkly different from everyone else in this room. She dabs her mouth with her napkin and agrees, "Gemma used to say that she has his nature and my heart. She and I are alike in one major way." She pauses to catches Finnick's eye before murmuring, "We have a tendency of letting our hearts lead us."

He hums at this and idly tears off another chunk of bread. The dough is warm against his fingertips, but he doesn't take a bite of it. Instead, he slowly says, "Well I guess you know your daughter better than anyone."

But inside, he's wondering if Sil's heart really does lead her. If he really means as much to her as she claims in her letter, or if once again he is being blinded by the embellishment of her District 1 charms.

Aurelius looks at him with a strange solemnity, and shakes her head. "No Finnick.  _You_  know her better than anyone," she says. He glances up at her with hesitant eyes, and Aurelius smiles sadly at him. "The Sterling Nightingale wears a dozen masks, but Silver…well, she's always been an open book."

She pauses, then stands up and gathers her tray. Before she takes her leave though, Aurelius looks over at Finnick and tilts her head. Her green eyes catch on the light of the room, glimmering like darkened emeralds. And her voice – it's soft and knowing when she murmurs, "Seven years is a long time to be parted from my daughter, but I do know this: Silver has never been able to hide her feelings when it comes to love, no matter how many masks she puts on."

She smiles once more at Finnick and steps away, leaving him there at the table with his mind churning and his confusion even more severe than it had been before.

* * *

A message reaches District 13 late at night; a soft ping of information that wavers through the near silent communications room like an understated torrent of information. It is received by a night worker who is nodding off at his desk and nearly misses the message entirely. It is by some stroke of luck that he doesn't – but then again, the Sterling Nightingale has luck is droves.

It doesn't take long to inform President Coin of the news, though at first she is less than eager to hear it. She works long hours and gets little sleep, but even she knows of the importance of this message. It is a message she's been waiting for – half hoping to never receive it, half convinced that it is inevitable. The latter seems to have won out.

"When did you receive it?" she demands after gathering herself together and throwing on her jumpsuit. She drags her fingers through her clipped silver hair as she waits for the others to arrive and for the night worker to audibly tell her what she needs to know. He is wavering, clearly half asleep himself, when he hands her the printed page that's been deciphered and double checked several times over. Such are the procedures for sending and receiving messages to and from District 13.

Coin takes the page and reads it quickly. It doesn't take long – the message is only one sentence in length and written in standard shorthand. It was clearly sent with the intention of a hasty delivery, which doesn't bode well.

"An hour ago, Madam President," the night worker replies, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "We wanted to be sure of the integrity of the message before handing it over."

Coin nods and he takes his leave. A message of this caliber must be checked and double checked. Still, even one hour's time seems too great. It is so sudden. All of her carefully constructed plans will be tested far too soon, and she is hit with an abrupt wave of doubt. Will their efforts be good enough?

She collapses into a nearby chair and taps her fingers against the cool metal of the table. Half lost in thought, and half worrying over the details, she barely even notices when the door of her office opens and several wide-awake Victors file in. Several of her higher ranked lieutenants and generals also arrive, looking sharp despite the odd hours. She wouldn't expect any less from them.

"What's happened?" Plutarch asks as he makes his way to her side. His eyes immediately zero in on the scrap of paper in front of her, but he doesn't reach for it. Instead he waits to hear her say it aloud.

She doesn't open her mouth until everyone is gathered around the table. She's not particularly surprised that Haymith and Finnick are among the Victors, though she does wonder how Plutarch managed to drag Haymitch out of his bed. Finnick, she's unsurprised about. It seems that, since hearing about Silver's true purpose, he's all but thrown himself into the war efforts.

"We've received news," Coin says, standing up to look over them all. She holds up the paper. "From our Nightingale."

Finnick, naturally, looks intensely curious and even a little afraid as he stares at the paper from across the table. Coin doesn't comment on his expression. His concern over Silver is touching in some ways, but certainly not something she can consider at the moment. Too many other thoughts spiral through her.

"And?" Plutarch asks, crossing his hands over the tabletop.

Coin hands him the page. As his eyes scan the contents, she says, "Her position has been compromised. There is currently a warrant for her arrest circulating through the Capitol, which means we have lost our core source of intel. We must strike now, or we lose the advantage of surprise."

Finnick hears only the first part. He sits up and exclaims _, "Compromised?_  Is she alright?"

Coin's mouth tightens. It is Plutarch who answers, by reading aloud the message contained on the sheet of paper.

" _Going underground. Position compromised. This is my last message. As of now: hundreds of traps, every street. Proceed with caution."_

Plutarch sighs, "It's as we thought. He's rigged the entire city."

Coin grunts out in agreement and runs her hands through her hair.

"What, like a fucking arena?" Haymitch sarcastically wonders, leaning back in his chair. "And how do we know this for sure? What if this message is actually from Snow himself?"

Coin glances at him shrewdly and responds with a clipped, "It isn't. And we know because the Nightingale also sent  _this."_

She nods to her general, who is holding a tablet in his hands, and he turns it to face them. On the screen is a map of the Capitol, but it is not any map they have ever seen. Hundreds of black dots mark every street, every corner, every building. It is impossible to ignore them.

Haymitch's mouth drops open. "How are we gonna get around all of those? It's a death trap."

Finnick rubs a hand over his face in silent agreement. However, Coin has an answer ready. She always does, it seems.

"We plug in this map to our servers and send it along with all our soldiers. It will be slow going, but our soldiers on the front lines will pave the way for us."

Coin clears her throat and continues, "Katniss, your team will be positioned behind the soldiers. You'll be shooting promo videos that we will air during the attack to foster morale. Our other soldiers will head into the city and deal with the traps as well as the Peacekeepers. You know what to do, Generals." She glances at her generals and says, "Prepare our soldiers. We leave at 0500 hours."

They nod and make a quick exit, leaving Coin with the other Victors. She catches Plutarch's eye and he nods, standing up to address them.

"Finnick, we're going to run your promo first, as a distraction. While it's clogging up the Capitol's servers, we'll send our remaining troops in. You are all on the same team. You'll meet your commanding officer on the front lines, as scheduled. Gale Hawthorne will also be meeting you there."

Coin, who has been silent during Plutarch's explanation, looks at them all. Scattered Victors. They don't look half as strong as they did in their Games. She hopes they won't fail her. The brunt of her plans relies on Katniss, and the others by extension.

Her eyes land on Finnick, who has taken the sheet of paper while she was talking. He's now staring at the message with strangely empty eyes, as if he's already assuming the worst. Coin sighs.

"Trust is important in this line of work, Odair," Coin says, making him jump a little in his seat. He turns his gaze to her and she narrows her own.

"And what will Sil be doing while we're out there shooting promos?" he asks, sounding angry and sarcastic. He stubbornly leans back and crosses his arms.

Coin's eyes harden at his tone. She spears him with a look that would make a lesser man quake. When she speaks, her voice is as hard as her expression and cuts like steel.

"The Nightingale has her orders and you have yours. I understand your connection to her, but don't make the mistake of presuming that I'll put your individual happiness over the welfare of my entire army. Do your job, because Silver won't hesitate to do hers."

Finnick clearly doesn't like the response, but Coin doesn't give him the option to argue. She turns to address everyone, "Get ready to leave. You have thirty minutes."

District 13 has been preparing for war for as long as Coin can remember – for far longer than she herself has been with them. She only hopes that, now that it is on their doorstep, they will be ready for it.

* * *

The entire city is changed in a matter of hours. Sil had barely managed to get to her safe house when news of her disappearance is being broadcast on every television. Theories surrounding her alleged identity as the Sterling Nightingale follow every commercial break. Some seem to think she's lying. She can't blame them for not believing, really. She's painted herself as a hairbrained fop with no interest in anything outside of fashion and reputation. Still, some are spinning wild stories about her and Finnick and the others, only serving to complicate matters beyond recognition.

Snow calls for a city-wide evacuation and shuffles many of his well to do citizens to safe houses in Districts 1 and 2. There is pandemonium in the streets as people hasten to the other designated safe zones. Sil watches it all from the TV that's been set up in the basement of Dorsey's shop, sitting on the edge of her chair as pure chaos roils on the screen in front of her.

She wonders if this is what it feels like to watch the Games as a safe bystander and thinks she should feel some sort of cruel happiness at the sight of the citizens' horrified expressions. All she feels, though, is emptiness and exhaustion, all too aware of the way the clock ticks loudly beside her and strikes off what may very well be the last seconds of her life.

"You want some coffee?" Mr. Dorsey asks from the corner, where he's fiddling with their ancient coffee machine. He's got a few chipped mugs ready on the table, no doubt his way of being prepared for any future guests. She sighs. She's not sure if his preparation is heartening or not.

"I should sleep," is her response, and she leans back into the armchair with a purse of her lips.

Dorsey grunts. He pours her a cup anyway and she doesn't argue. When he brings it to her, he mumbles, "You won't anyhow."

She doesn't answer, just takes the coffee and brings it to her lips.

"Tommy should be here by now," she says, returning her eyes to the screen, where Caesar Flickerman is now raving about the destruction in the streets and the failed order among the Peacekeeper ranks as they try to ferry the citizens to safety. Every other sentence is,  _'Those rebels did this'_ and  _'The rebels did that'_  and  _'It's all their fault'_. It's  _annoying_  is what it is.

Mr. Dorsey hums into his mug and mutters, "He's getting extra supplies. With all this chaos, it's the perfect time to raid the armories and get some extra ammunition." He pats himself down to locate his pack of cigarettes and pops one between his lips.

Sil watches him light it up with a dry expression. "You sent him to steal bullets? Didn't we already plan ahead for that? We have a closet full of ammo and more guns than we can use." She pauses and then groans, "Please don't tell me he's lost. You've lost him, didn't you? He's off radar?"

Dorsey's beat of silence is answer enough, and Sil's stress levels skyrocket. She squeezes her coffee mug tightly and closes her eyes. As if she's not already worried about this whole plan going well, and being able to do her part, and not messing up somehow. And then Finnick – worrying about his safety, scared that he might not care about hers, afraid of his reaction to the knowledge of her identity…

Now she also has to worry about Tommy, who is lost in the chaotic streets. This day has been both lucky and extraordinarily  _unlucky_.

Felix had made her escape too easy, giving her leave to return to her apartment as he had. He clearly hadn't thought much of her ability to get out of a difficult situation. She'd stayed only as long as it took to grab some supplies and leave one of her notes – she couldn't resist, really, as silly as it seems in hindsight. With her apartment's location being conveniently close to an entrance into the underground tunnels that crisscross beneath the city's infrastructure, it had taken her all of fifteen minutes to disappear from the public eye.

Of course her luck didn't last. Sending her final message to District 13 had been a chance she'd taken with no small amount of caution. Should the Capitol intercept the message, they could trace it to her location only too easily. No amount of firewalls or encrypted passwords could save her from the potential wrath of a determined President Snow. She'd been lucky with that, too, because so far there's been no sign of errant Peacekeepers knocking on Dorsey's shop. Her luck has run out now, though. Tommy's disappearance is making her more concerned than she cares to let on. Of course, Dorsey sees right through her.

"You keep thinking that hard, you'll fry your brain," he dryly tells her, looking thoroughly unconcerned as he leans against the table in the center of the room. Sil throws him an annoyed look and he raises an eyebrow at her. "Look, you still have to figure out how you're getting to the prison. It's not gonna be easy with all those traps. I'll worry about Tommy, yeah?"

The prison. Another hopeless mission. She has no idea why Coin is sending her to evacuate prisoners that are probably safer there than anywhere else at this point, but it seems that her position in the Capitol has been demoted somewhat. They don't need her anymore – not in the same way. Now isn't the time for theatrics and spies, it's time for open war.

The thought of Tommy has Sil scrubbing at her face and bemoaning, "What if he's been captured? What if he's  _dead?"_

Dorsey snorts. "Doubt it. We can still track his heartbeat from our systems. He's not dead."

Sil scrunches her nose. "That doesn't mean anything. Maybe they discovered his identity and put the tracker on someone else so as not to alert us."

He rolls his eyes at her and reminds her, "You're thinking too hard, remember? Tommy's not stupid, he'll be fine. You've got other things to worry about. And you still need to disguise all that hair."

She grumbles at him but reluctantly agrees. Her shocking blonde hair is more than a little eye catching – it is her signature, almost. She'd be recognized immediately if she goes outside like this.

"You're right," Sil reluctantly agrees, and heaves herself up. She heads into the only other room in Dorsey's underground bunker. It's chocked full of ammunition and weapons, riddled with armored vests and disguises that she will occasionally use when masquerading as someone else. She has high Capitolite fashion, feathered hats and gaudy rings – as well as Peacekeeper armor and a wide array of badges.

The second room is more of a closet than a room, separated by a curtain that Dorsey had hung up rather impudently back when he'd first been outfitting the place. Sil uses the closet as her 'dressing room'. She even has a small vanity table set up in the corner with wash-out hair dyes.

She doesn't plan on using any dye today. Instead Sil pulls on a pair of stretchy black pants, an armored vest, and some black armored leg pieces that she straps around her thighs and calves. She's hooking on two belts of ammunition around her waist as she walks back into the main room, and Mr. Dorsey snorts.

"You think that's conspicuous?" he asks dryly, glancing at all the black. Not to mention the weapons she's got hooked around her waist and against her back.

Sil smirks at him. "Who cares? The front line troops are already moving through the city. And besides, I'll be traveling mainly underground."

Dorsey grunts and takes another long drag of his cigarette. Sil wrinkles her nose at his chain smoking habits and pulls her hair back before pushing it all into her hood.

"How do I look?" she asks, hooking her thumbs into her ammo belt.

Dorsey glances over her outfit, taking in the silver embellishments of the buttons, the confident green of her eyes, the aggressive looking weapons that sit at her waist. He takes a minute to answer, but when he does…

Well.

"Like the goddamned Sterling Nightingale," he says. Sil laughs.

"Is that a good thing, or a bad thing I wonder?" she muses, taking a moment to adjust her armored vest.

Dorsey sighs and scrubs at his hair with a half hearted shrug. "No idea. I guess at this point, it doesn't matter."

"Mmm…" Sil agrees vaguely, glancing at the map of Panem that is hanging on the entirety of one wall. Her eyes drift rebelliously to District 4 and she feels her heart lurch in her chest.

Dorsey is right. It doesn't matter, not now. Nothing matters except focusing on her mission – on completing the plans that are seven years in the making, the plans she helped to create.

But her heart whispers a song of waves and seagulls, and she knows there's more at stake than just losing a war.


	45. That it does not unnerve me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which the Star Squad enters the city.
> 
> This is a shorter chapter - sort of a transition into the war arc. Next chapter will have more action in it!

 

**Chapter Forty Five | That it does not unnerve me**

" _A burning curiosity seized her to know him. Although for months she had heard of him and had accepted his anonymity as everyone else in society had done, now she longed to know only for her own sake, for the sake of the enthusiastic admiration she had always bestowed on his bravery and cunning." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

The Capitol is a tattered mess, thanks in part to the air raid from District 13's strike in the early hours of the morning. The air and ground raids have only been partially successful – the Capitol has more drones and more manpower, though it's clear that they were at least a little bit unprepared for the sheer mass of District 13. Snow has underestimated them. Still, there are more obstacles to maneuver around, which is made very clear to Squad 451 the moment they are shuttled into the city.

The squad enters into the South Side of the lower city, which seems to have received the brunt of the front line's anger. The evacuated buildings are dilapidated and skeletal, lending an eerie quality to the empty streets. It feels like they're walking through a horror movie.

They being the Star Squad – redesigned, in the recent hours after leaving District 13 to include none other than Peeta Mellark. Besides their recuperating teammate, the squad also consists of Katniss, Gale, and Finnick, as well as a handful of specially chosen District 13 soldiers. One of them is a man named Boggs, who apparently serves as Coin's Second in Command and has been 'promoted' (or demoted, Finnick sarcastically muses) to being the Mockingjay's sole protector. In any case, having a seasoned soldier with them is comforting, but really, they are all seasoned soldiers in their own ways. Not that being soldiers is their primary directive, of course. Shooting promo videos is about as dramatic as it's going to get around here.

The moment they arrive in the Capitol, it's clear that the distinction between the District 13 soldiers and the Victors is deeper than it appears to be. The soldiers are lost, in a way, in this concrete hell. They immediately rely on the tech that was sent with them to guide them through the streets and to avoid any traps set in place. Finnick, Katniss, and Peeta all know the Capitol much better – Finnick more so. Though he never ventured too far into the South Side, as his clientele had always lived in the high rise buildings to the north, he is more confident in his bearings. Not that it matters much, because after running into several traps that nearly takes some of them out, Finnick realizes that the technology provided by District 13 is decidedly useful.

"There's a pod up ahead. Building on the right, at the intersection," Jackson, Bogg's second in command, mutters as she looks down at the screen attached to her wrist. Thanks to Sil's map, they have a general idea of the locations of any traps, but there are holes in the process. Luckily, those loopholes are fixed with some additional tech that Beetee came up with. It's something that measures the radio frequencies and bounces them back into their equipment, alerting them of the danger before they walk right into it. It's been helpful so far.

Boggs, who has taken up the reigns of acting Captain, says, "Think you can shoot it down, Mitch?"

Mitchell is their sharpshooter – he's incredible with a sniper, or anything that requires a little more finesse to operate. Finnick, who has only started learning to shoot a matter of weeks ago, is impressed. Especially when Mitch pulls out his gun, kneels down, and takes aim. The small, black trigger stuck to the side of the building splinters to pieces in mere moments, and Mitch sends them a cocky grin. He knows he's good at what he does.

"We should find somewhere to camp for a while. Get some food and move on," Boggs says after giving Mitch a short, approving nod. The sky is cresting with the telltale signs of the sunrise. It's hard to believe that they've only been in the Capitol for a few short hours. It feels like a lot longer.

"All these buildings are evacuated. Let's pick one and scout the area," Finnick suggests, glancing up at the buildings critically. Some of them are in better condition, but many of them are crumbling and show signs of their steel infrastructure peeking through the cement walls.

Boggs grunts in agreement, but says, "We should move forward a bit, in case they picked us up on camera. Don't want to give ourselves away too easily."

They all agree to keep moving a few blocks, trying to blend in as best they can while still looking out for traps. After about fifteen minutes of walking, they stumble upon a building that looks worse for wear but definitely makes for a good camp. It's protected enough to keep them hidden, but has multiple exits in case something happens and their location is discovered. They all shuffle into it.

It's an old office building, or was, before the air strike. The lobby has glass covering much of the tiled floor, which will help to alert them to any intruders during the night. They move into a room deeper in and set up their camp, which takes about five minutes. They don't have a lot of supplies save what they could fit into their knapsacks.

Boggs gives them all a few jobs. Mitchell is tasked with distributing rations while Jackson and the twins, who go by the nicknames Leeg 1 and Leeg 2, scout the vicinity. Peeta is left alone, which is just as well, while Boggs, Katniss, Gale, and Finnick sit down to consult the maps. They know the Capitol better than anyone, after all.

"This is our location," Boggs says, pointing to a dot on the three-dimensional map that opens up for them on the tabletop. Seeing their exact coordinates puts things into perspective.

"We'll follow the army from a ways behind. Taking down pods is our main directive, and we've got plenty of them to work with," Boggs adds, and they all look at the hundreds of red dots littering the streets in droves. His words are the biggest understatement Finnick has ever heard.

Jackson crosses her arms. "It'll be slow going. We made good time today though, and so far our presence here is safe. With Snow distracted by the other units, we have an advantage."

Katniss grunts. She glances over at where Peeta is mumbling to himself by the wall and quietly asks, "What do we do about him? He's a liability."

Finnick is of the mind to agree, but only because Peeta has been so thoroughly brainwashed. Still, he can see parts of the younger man coming through, like the sun on a particularly cloudy day. It's subtle, but apparent. He's definitely a liability though, regardless of his slow recovery.

Boggs glances over at Peeta and sighs. "He's in cuffs and he's got a watch on him 24/7. He can't do anything."

Katniss frowns. "I don't get it. Why would Coin send him here like this?"

She glances back at Peeta, who is rocking back and forth on his heels with his arms wrapped tightly around his knees. He looks like a shell of his former self, frightened and torn. It just doesn't make sense.

Coin hadn't informed them that Peeta would be joining their team. He had arrived only after they reached their first encampment on the front lines, shuttled in via truck and dumped on their doorstep. Her first response was to pull her bow on him, remembering all too vividly of the way he had suffocated the air right out of her lungs. She had nearly died there, on the hospital floor in District 13, because the man she loves has been brainwashed to see her as a mutt. He doesn't belong on the front lines. His mind is still too fragile.

Boggs goes uncharacteristically silent at her words. She turns to him curiously and he nods his head to the side, gesturing for her to follow him. Together, they step off to the side of the room.

"…It was Peeta that Coin wanted rescued from the arena. She doesn't like you. She's never liked anybody or anything she can't control."

Katniss's eyes darken. "So she would put my life in danger?"

"She'd deny it, but…" he trails off and Katniss narrows her eyes at him.

"What?" she demands, clenching her hands. Boggs sighs.

"…One way or another this war is gonna come to an end," he tells her slowly. "We've promised the people a free election. …Maybe she's starting to see you as a threat."

At this, Katniss immediately scoffs. "Nobody would think I'd be a leader," she retaliates, shaking her head. A threat? As if. All she's ever wanted has been a quiet life away from the troubles of the Capitol, and that's exactly what she would give herself if they win this war. Not a seat in the very place she loathes more than anything.

Boggs gives her a sideways look and muses, "But if you gave your support to someone, would it be her?" She goes silent at his question and he smiles dryly. "If your immediate answer isn't yes, then you're dangerous," he tells her honestly.

"She doesn't need you as a rallying cry anymore – these promos can be done without you," he continues, and darkly adds, "There's only one thing you can do now to add more fire to this rebellion."

Her blood runs cold. The answer comes unbidden, but she knows it's the truth when she murmurs, "Die."

Boggs knows it too. He shakes his head. "That's not gonna happen under my watch, Katniss. I'm planning for you to have a long life."

Not understanding his determination, Katniss frowns. "Why? You don't owe me anything."

His response is simple. He spears her with a look and says, as if the answer is obvious, "Cause you've earned it."

She goes silent at this. How does someone respond to that? To the loyalty of a soldier who doesn't even know her that well, telling her that she had earned the life she has always yearned for, but never thought she'd ever get?

Boggs doesn't appear to need an answer. He just gives her a nod, turns his back, and walks back to the table where the map is set up. She stares at him for a moment, then turns her eyes to Peeta's hunched over figure. She thinks that he would have made a better rebel than her. He'd be the perfect face of the rebellion. Proud, strong, determined. But look at him now. The Capitol has ruined him.  _Snow_  has ruined him. He is a shadow of his old self and he seems to know it just as much as they do.

She walks to an old couch, brushes bits of plaster from it, and sits down beside Gale. He looks at her and gives a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. She smiles back just the same, glad that he is here with her despite the circumstances.

It doesn't stop her from worrying, though. Katniss is given first watch later that night, and it's just as well because she couldn't sleep even if she wanted to. She sits down with her back to the wall and stares off into space, deep in thought. She hardly even realizes that Peeta is awake until his voice suddenly breaks through the silence of the room.

"I've been here before, you know," he says, scratchy and unkempt. She turns to him in surprise, only to find that he is staring at her with eyes that are wide awake. How long as he been watching her? The thought is unnerving.

"…What?" she asks belatedly, unsure as to what he's trying to say. He just blinks at her.

"That look. I've seen that look. You're trying to decide whether or not you should kill me." He tilts his head in challenge. It's a challenge Katniss does not appreciate. She frowns.

"I never wanted to kill you. And that's not what I'm doing," she adds, feeling uncomfortable and suddenly tired. She looks away, reclaiming the spot she's been staring at for the past half hour.

"I saw it with my own eyes, in the first Games" he insists dryly, and unlike her, he doesn't take his eyes off her.

She immediately cuts in, "In the first Games, I thought you were helping the Careers. After that, I always saw you…as an ally." The truth is quietly spoken but sincere.

Peeta doesn't believe her, it seems, because he scoffs, looking thoroughly unconvinced. "Friend, lover, Victor, fiancé, enemy, target, mutt, and now ally?" he asks. His voice gets louder with each word, each characterization that the two of them have experienced during their time together. He shakes his head and scoffs sarcastically, "Yeah, I'll add that to the list of words I use to try to figure  _you_  out."

Feeling the backlash of his words like a slap in the face, Katniss clenches her jaw and looks abruptly away. But unbeknownst to them, they aren't the only ones awake. Across the room, Finnick sighs and sits up, slinging an arm over his bent knee and catching Katniss's eye solemnly. Peeta's words hit home for the both of them, truthfully. Finnick thinks that he could probably fit them to Sil, if he wanted to.

She was his friend, in a way. They were partners, and as unlikely and unwilling as they were, they worked well together. They had the entire country tricked into thinking they were in love with each other, after all.

And love – there's that word – the one that makes his heart clench painfully. For all intents and purposes, she was his lover in the eyes of the Capitol. And his fiancé, and his wife, and then –

Then his enemy, when he ended up in District 13 without her; then the target that took the brunt of the backlash once District 13 became officially known to the rest of the country; and now…now she is an ally, and a most unexpected one at that.

Yes, she could fit right into the words that Peeta has used. And, like Peeta, Finnick has never been able to figure Sil out. Like Peeta, he is just as lost. But – that is a thought for another day. That is a web that Finnick doesn't have the strength to unravel in this moment.

Peeta's sigh breaks him from his thoughts. In a scratchy voice, he murmurs, "I'm sorry. …I just can't tell what real, and what's made up anymore." His admittance is sincere and thoroughly heartbreaking.

"Then ask," Finnick cuts in, staring at Peeta intently. "…It's what Annie does."

Annie, the one companion he has left from District 4. His best friend. His confidant. The one he tells everything, every little thing, without fear of judgement. And she takes it all in because despite being tormented by the Capitol for as long as she has, in all the ways that she has, she is one of the strongest people Finnick knows.

Peeta frowns. "Ask who?" The question is tinged with despair.

Jackson, who's also been listening to the conversation the entire time, suddenly says, "Ask us. We're your unit now."

Silence cascades around them. It feels as dark and as deep as it should, as it ought to given the circumstances around them. Peeta bows his head and stares at his hands, deep in thought - struggling, it seems, with every incoherency that he has been faced with these last few weeks.

Finally, after what feels like forever, he looks over at Katniss and slowly says, "…Your favorite color is green. Is that real?"

She stares at him. "…Yeah, that's real." After a pause, she adds, "Yours is orange. Not bright orange. Soft, like the sunset."

Peeta seems taken aback, almost. He blinks at her slowly and mumbles, "Thank you." He doesn't seem to know what else to say.

Katniss does. The words come to her unplanned. They spin from her lips like drops of rain on a parched day. She can't stop them, can't do anything but let them flow.

"You're a painter. You're a baker. You always sleep with the windows open. You never take sugar in your tea. You always double knot your shoe laces…" With a choked grunt, she suddenly stands up and shakes her head, looking away from him and blinking back tears. "You were right," she says aloud, to no one in particular but to everyone listening. "I can't do this."

As she walks outside, away from the claustrophobic atmosphere that has been built up inside the broken down room, Finnick sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

He wonders if Peeta's methods would also work on Sil, like his characterizations seem to. Whether or not he can pick apart the truth of her character and the lies of her identity. Maybe he can figure out where Silver Lamprey Cornelius starts, and the Sterling Nightingale ends.

But even as he thinks it, his heart clenches again. So much has changed, in so little time. He wonders what that will mean for him and Sil, or if everything they've unwittingly built between them will come crumbling down like the war-torn buildings towering at every turn.

Friend, lover, enemy, ally – are those the only words that fit them now, or do they only scratch the surface of what they are?

He feels lost at sea in a storm of his own making, swept up in the current with no way of getting to shore. Because, he sighs, Sil  _is_  the shore – and reaching her has always been as hopeless as navigating the open ocean on a cloudy night.


	46. This strange provocation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which the Star Squad is in for a shock.
> 
> I apologize in advance for the cliffhanger at the end of this chapter. I don't mean to make you all suffer (much) but I had to break it up a bit because the next chapter ended up being a little longer than anticipated. On another note, I can't believe we're almost to chapter 50. I guess I've been posting this story for a while now, but it doesn't feel that long to me! Thanks again to everyone who is enjoying this story. The reviews and feedback have been very inspiring and I really appreciate them all!

 

**Chapter Forty Six | This strange provocation**

" _The lust of blood grows with its satisfaction, there is no satiety; the crowd had seen a hundred noble heads fall beneath the guillotine today. It wanted to make sure that it would see another hundred fall on the morrow." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

Tommy has been in this line of work for several years now, ever since Sil had recruited him one night when he had been too tipsy to hold onto his loathsome opinions regarding the Capitol. Had she not been at the very same party that he was attending at the time, he probably would have ended up in a prison cell and left to rot there for his lack of decorum. He had been lucky that she'd found him worthy enough to break character and drag him out of the crowd, though he hadn't made it easy for her at the time. Back then, he had known her only as the inane Victor from District 1 – as ridiculous as the rest of the Capitol, if not more so – and he hadn't exactly seen her in a positive light despite him having been born into that society himself. His opinion of her had all changed, of course, when she had pulled him into the streets, snapped at him to keep his opinions quiet, and had proceeded to initiate him into a world that he never could have dreamt of before that moment.

It was a world that he had thrown himself into. A role that had given him purpose. Sil had saved him in several ways that night.

"Should I even ask where you've been?" her voice questions from the dismal light of the alleyway, and for a split second, Tommy's heart leaps up into his throat.

He turns to look at her, shaking his surprise away the first moment it comes. He shouldn't be so shocked that she would track him down. Their relationship has come full circle, it seems, in the last few hours. He thinks it's a little bit ironic.

"You're not usually the type to ask useless questions," is all he replies, then pauses and jokingly adds, "Well, at least not when you're dressed like  _that."_

He raises his eyebrows at the padded armor that curves around her form, and chuckles. Then, glancing down at himself, he quips, "Do you happen to have another outfit like that one? I'm a little jealous."

Sil can't stop the laughter that blooms from her lips upon hearing his inquiry. Her eyes flash with amusement at him, even as she sighs and steps forward, glancing furtively over her shoulder as she says, "Perhaps if you had met me at Dorsey's like you said you would, you wouldn't be jealous, Tommy darling."

He grimaces a bit at the words that are delivered with far more backbone than usual and mutters, "I got a little…stuck."

Sil looks over at him with crossed arms and skeptically repeats, "Stuck?"

He shrugs halfheartedly and explains, "Once the Peacekeepers started overrunning the streets, it was a bit difficult to leave."

She hums in the back of her throat and sighs again as she leans against the wall, head tipped back against the concrete. At this angle, he can just about see the hint of her shockingly blonde hair peeking out from the confines of her hood.

"In the message you sent, you said that you received orders," Tommy prompts her, stepping to the edge of the alley and glancing out to see if there is anyone in the streets. For now, they are empty, but he knows that this false sense of security won't last. They are too close to the President's Manor to have true peace here. He looks over at her and murmurs, "Why does Coin want us to break into the prisons? It seems like a waste of time at this point."

Sil puffs her cheeks out and nods in agreement. "I do believe we're being demoted, my dear. Perhaps she doesn't trust us to join up with the rebel army."

At this, Tommy snorts, "Well I suppose we aren't exactly typical rebels."

She chuckles humorlessly and spears him with a glance. Then, in a low voice, she responds, "Does a typical rebel exist, I wonder?" She pushes off from the wall and strides over to him. "Come, let's head over to the prisons to see what's happening. We might as well make ourselves useful. It isn't as if we can just walk into a squad and join them now anyway. It's far too late for those sorts of heroics."

Tommy isn't sure he's inclined to believe her, and he definitely doesn't like the thought of being 'demoted', as she puts it, but he doesn't argue. They are near enough to the prisons that it only takes them a short while to reach their destination. After a few blocks of careful travel, mostly spent sticking to the shadows of the alleyways, they pause to study the atmosphere of the building before they make a move.

Everything appears to be utterly deserted, but they know better than to assume such a thing. This is the Capitol, and nothing is as it seems. Sil is about to step out into the street to cross the courtyard when the device in her ear goes off, and she is so surprised at the sudden voice that inputs her new orders that she throws herself back against the wall with a short gasp. Her expression drains of her surprise though, when she tilts her head and listens to the information that she is being given.

Tommy looks over at her with a frown, but his confusion clears the moment he sees her raise her hand to the earpiece, push down on a button, and murmur, "Orders received. Over."

Then she looks at Tommy and breathes, "…Perhaps we aren't being demoted after all, Tommy."

He turns to face her and asks, "What's going on? Are we leaving?"

Sil just glances at the prisons and murmurs, "The people in there should have a chance at freedom, if you're up to doing that job on your own. It looks like most of the Peacekeepers have left the vicinity to join ranks with the others, so it should be safe enough."

Tommy pauses, then nods, "Alright then, but what about you?"

Sil gives him a shaky smile and reaches up to fix her hood as she replies, "Headquarters wants me to track down a squad. Apparently, they aren't sure if Katniss Everdeen is alive or not."

Tommy's jaw tightens. He isn't overly concerned about the Girl on Fire, but he is worried about the woman standing before him now. If she is to track down Katniss Everdeen's squad, she'll be putting herself in the direct line of fire, for President Snow will do anything and everything to find the Mockingjay and bring her to justice. Or, at least, his version of it.

He reaches out to clasp her on the shoulder and says, "Be careful, Sil."

She just smiles at him and pats his hand. "You be careful too, Tommy. The first moment you're done, head back to Dorsey's shop and stay there. It's too dangerous out here in the open."

He merely nods, and decides not to mention that it's too dangerous for her, too. She is too rebellious to take her own safety seriously. It's something that has been the source of his concern for years now, ever since she had introduced him to the secret world in which she lives. He knows that telling her to be careful would be useless, especially now.

For, if she is going to find the Girl on Fire, who else will she stumble upon? He doesn't say anything else as he watches her take her leave, retrieving her tracking device from her belt as she goes. Their paths have forked, at least for the time being, and as Tommy turns his gaze back to the prisons, he sets his shoulders back and steps forward.

He is an agent of the Sterling Nightingale. He will prove that before the end.

* * *

The Star Squad gets a head start that morning. They pack up before the sun fully rises and goes off into the streets. Boggs takes the lead, holding what has been dubbed the 'Hollow' out in front of him. It's the device that is able to detect the pods littered everywhere, and also has the map with the coordinates plugged into it. Their mission for today and every other, it seems, is to find good places to shoot promos amid the wreckage of the Capitol.

They soon find one, according to Cressida, their main camerawoman. As they approach a large, circular courtyard with towering apartment buildings on all sides, she informs them that it's the perfect place to shoot a video. Must be theatrical enough or something. Finnick doesn't bother asking. He's too busy making Peeta repeat his lines, hoping that the younger man still has the brainpower to memorize them.

The Hollow starts beeping quickly as they approach the entrance to the open courtyard. It's a sound they've grown used to, by now. It marks the existence of yet another pod, which they find attached to a high point of the building in front of them.

"Spread out on both sides," Boggs orders, gesturing to the two buildings that mark the entrance to the courtyard. They immediately scatter. When they're all in position, Boggs picks up a bit of rubble and tosses it into the narrow alley between the buildings.

The reaction is immediate and frightening. Two huge machine guns splinter out of the buildings and start spewing bullets left and right. If they weren't safe behind the walls, they would have been dead.

They all crouch down, covering their ears. The guns seem to go on forever, spewing bullet after bullet. It's loud and endless, and then it stops just as suddenly as it had started, and they're all left in a cloud of cement dust.

Boggs tentatively steps out into the opening of the alley. When the guns don't start up again, he says, "All clear. Leegs, take the wings. Everyone else, stay where you are."

Their orders received, the Leegs twins follow Boggs down the alley to make sure everything is clear. Silence perforates the rest of the group, who remain in position behind the buildings. Peeta seems to have been triggered by the machine guns, because he's quaking where he is and is muttering to himself. Finnick puts a hand on his shoulder silently.

But the silence doesn't last. Suddenly, a bomb blast goes off and Boggs shouts in pain. Pandemonium ensues. Order is thrown away as Katniss runs into the alley to see the damage. Boggs is on the ground several meters away. One of the Leegs twins is also injured.

They all rush to their fallen companions. Boggs is panting on the ground, one leg clean off and bleeding profusely where he lies. There is pain on his face – so much pain. Katniss throws herself to the ground beside him and says his name, desperately hoping that he will be okay even as she knows that he will not. She's seen enough death to know when it is coming.

The moment she reaches him, Boggs grabs her arm and repeats, "The Hollow…the Hollow…"

She turns to retrieve it, quickly bringing it back to his side and pressing it into his hands. His fingers spin over the buttons quickly, with a finesse that only comes with practice. Then, suddenly, he's saying, "Unfit for command. Transfer primary…security clearance."

Katniss stares at him in confusion when he looks at her and demands, "Say your name."

"…Katniss Everdeen," she says, obeying without question. Time is of the essence. Still, she asks, "What did you just do?"

Groaning with pain, Boggs responds, "Katniss…don't trust them. Kill Peeta if you have to. Do what you came to do."

Katniss shakes her head. "Boggs?" she asks, seeing the light beginning to drain from his eyes. She watches him go and purses her mouth as she lowers his head to the ground.

The atmosphere turns immediately dark. With the sudden the absence of Boggs, the injured Leegs twin is heard more clearly, and her sister is struck with the realization of her pain. She rushes for her without thought, and steps down on an uneven trap that has been left in the ground. It sinks in with a scratchy, loud noise that makes them all pause in horror.

The doors on both sides of the courtyard – doors they hadn't even known were there – immediately start to close. They are trapped, as a wave of some sort of molten tarry substance abruptly pours into the space like a tsunami.

"Go! Go to the doors!" Jackson's voice yells. She runs to a nearby building, pulling out her gun to shoot down the glass paneling the door, and they all barely manage to get inside before the tar follows. They rush up the stairs in a panic, the bubbling substance creeping up behind them. They lose one man in the tar, and make it to the top of the stairway with several injuries and little hope. But the substance doesn't follow them past that top tier. Instead, it slowly begins to sink back down, as if it has lost some of its anger.

Gale shakes his head. "The Gamemakers are putting on quite a show," he mutters, as Jackson tries to get into contact with the base. There is no reply. They are completely on their own.

"If Peacekeepers didn't know where we were before, they do now," Finnick says, looking out the window and watching the sea of tar slowly sink back into the ground.

Gale speaks up again and says, "Those surveillance cameras caught us. This is a bad spot. We need to move, now."

Jackson shakes her head and repeats into her mic, "451 to base, are you there? 451 to base, over." When she doesn't get a response, she curses and slips the radio back into her pocket. "I can't get a signal," she mutters, then says, "But I can get us back to base. Everdeen, give me the Hollow."

Katniss just looks at her. Jackson impatiently repeats, "Everdeen what'd I just say? The Hollow – give it to me."

After a beat of silence, Katniss shakes her head. "Boggs gave it to me."

Frowning, Jackson asks, "What are you talking about?"

Mitch, their sharpshooter, nods. "He did. He transferred security clearance to her. I saw him."

"…And why would he do that?" Jackson demands, spearing Katniss with a look.

She pauses, then says, "I'm on special orders from Coin." The lie is one that she is all too happy to carry, because it's one she is going to try to succeed in, whether they like it or not.

Jackson purses her mouth. "To do what?"

"To assassinate President Snow," Katniss says, squaring her shoulders.

Looking unconvinced, Jackson shakes her head. "I don't believe that for one second. As your new squad commander, I order you to transfer security clearance to me. Now."

Tension is running high, especially when Katniss staunchly denies her. "I can't do that."

Jackson is about to reach for her gun and force the Hollow from Katniss's hands when Cressida steps forward and says, "She's telling the truth. Plutarch wants it televised. He thinks if we can film the Mockingjay assassinating Snow, it'll make the Capitol surrender before the casualties get too high."

Tense silence cascades over them. Gale sighs impatiently and acts as the voice of reason when he adds, "While we're arguing, there's a hundred Peacekeepers on their way here."

Katniss frowns and steps forward, looking directly into Jackson's eyes. "Boggs promised me that when the time came, you would help me."

They maintain eye contact for a long moment before Jackson finally nods, looking aggravated but resigned. "Alright, soldier. The Hollow's yours."

Gale is impatient to leave. "We need to get out of here. We should be safe – the cameras will be covered up with the tar."

They all look over to their injured crew member. The Leeg twin is completely out of commission. Her leg is still bleeding and it's apparent that she won't be able to make the trip down the stairs. Cressida rubs her face. "She can't move like this. We're gonna have to evacuate her."

The other Leeg twin clenches her jaw. "I'll stay with her. You go. We'll catch up."

Jackson's voice is firm when she tells them, "When we get back to base, we'll send someone to get you. I promise you." After a beat of silence, she orders, "Alright everybody. Move out."

The remaining members of the group head back down the stairs, tentatively stepping over the remains of the tar. As they reach the open courtyard, they quickly move across it, knowing that time is of the essence. Gale leads them into a building across the way, far enough from the courtyard where they will be relatively safe from Peacekeepers. It's about as good as its gonna get at this point – they don't have enough time to find somewhere better.

"Get these curtains closed," Jackson demands, the moment they step inside. They rush to obey, jerking the curtains shut as quickly as possible and enclosing themselves in the darkness. The midday sun still manages to peak through subtly, and it lends an almost eerie glow to the room. As if they need yet another element of eeriness.

They barely manage to pull the curtains closed before a group of Peacekeepers arrive. The resulting destruction isn't something they had anticipated. They take the entire building down, and with it, the Leegs twins. They all watch in horror as it crumbles with their teammates inside, peering around the edges of the curtains with terrified looks on their faces.

The guns are still going off when the television in the room suddenly flickers to life, preprogrammed to show the propaganda that is only too customary in the Capitol. They are both surprised and not at all surprised when Caesar Flickerman's face appears on the screen, his style somewhat subdued but still just as wild as ever.

" _Good afternoon, I'm Caesar Flickerman, here with our continued coverage of our defense of the Capitol. Today, as our Peacekeepers valiantly hold off the rebels, our story takes a surprising twist. Katniss Everdeen, our once favorite daughter, has infiltrated the city with some of the Victors, whose names are all too familiar – Finnick Odair, and Peeta Mellark. Hmm. Clearly, some alliances don't last forever."_

Footage of what they had only just experienced appears on the screen, right down to the minute details. They stare in open mouthed shock as it replays for them to see and experience all over again.

" _Take a look at what happened just a moment ago, when our Peacekeepers cornered Katniss Everdeen and her band of foolish rebels. Whatever arrogance brought this treacherous girl back to us, you are about to witness a great victory. Not only for the Capitol, but for Panem."_

The explosion of the building, and the Peacekeepers that are only just leaving the scene now, appear. Once again, they watch the building come down in pieces of rubble.

" _So there you have it,"_ Flickerman continues, his voice sounding cynical.  _"Katniss Everdeen, the Girl on Fire. A girl who inspired so much violence seems to have met a violent end herself. Stay tuned for more information. Caesar Flickerman, thank you."_

The screen turns to black, but not before the Anthem begins to play – more propaganda being shoved down their throats. Finnick looks away in disgust.

"So what do we do now?" he asks, sliding down to sit on the ground. He holds his gun tight to his chest and leans his head back. He's not expecting a response to drop from the sky, and he doesn't get one. The rest of them are silent when the question is voiced, clearly as unsure as he is.

"Let's get some rest," Jackson finally suggests with a heavy sigh, and starts digging around in her bag for rations. It's not as if they have anywhere else to go right now. There are still too many Peacekeepers in the area to leave their spot, and the crippling losses they've suffered today has put them all in a sour mood. They all agree to sit back and wait it out. They rummage around the cabinets to see what sort of food has been left behind and split it between themselves. They're in the middle of eating in sullen silence when an eerie creaking sound drifts through the nearby stairwell.

Fast as lightening, they're all on their feet with their guns drawn and trained on all exits. They expect a unit of Peacekeepers, or a band of mutts come to sniff them out. But they get the exact opposite. Instead of a culmination of the horrors of the Capitol, one lone shadow appears in the threshold. The figure is dressed in black, holding a gun loosely in her hands. A hood is draped over white blonde hair, which they can see hints of peeking out from beneath the heavy fabric. They are all so shocked to see her that they do absolutely nothing but stare, guns still pointed forward as if they are unsure if she's an enemy or not.

But Silver Lamprey Cornelius is about as far from an enemy as one can get, and she raises her eyebrows at the sight of them.

"What a warm welcome," she dryly notes, and lets her gun fall to her side. Warm welcome, indeed.


	47. This upheaval

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which the Sterling Nightingale's mask is stripped away, though not without questions.
> 
> And here we are, finally. It's been a long time coming! The next chapter will put things between Finnick and Sil into perspective and introduce some action into the plot. And, if you guys are interested, we are about two thirds of the way through the story now. I kept writing even after the rebellion, so there is still a lot of ground to cover ;)

 

**Chapter Forty Seven | This upheaval**

" _Pride had kept him from her, and woman-like, she meant to win back that conquest which had been hers before. Suddenly it seemed to her that the only happiness life could ever hold for her again would be in feeling that man's kiss once more upon her lips." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

Sil scans the group before her. They look like they're down on their luck. Some are injured, and they all appear to be depressed and unhappy. She supposes that's a normal reaction to what they've just went through. The entire Capitol knows about their recent losses by now, thanks to the news broadcast that aired not so long ago.

"Sil?" Katniss croaks, her voice shuddering with shock. Their eyes clash, a mixture of surprise and hope. Sil quirks a small smile.

"You're still alive, I see. I was sent to check your status. I guess I don't have to send Coin any bad news today." She steps into the room carefully, and hesitantly looks over at Finnick's shocked figure by the wall. Their eyes meet but they don't say anything. He is too shell shocked to find the words, and she isn't about to push him for a heartfelt reunion that she doubts she deserves.

Jackson pushes forward to grasp her hand. "Nightingale," she greets, and her usual brash tone is sliced through with what sounds like relief. "I'm… _glad_  to see you."

"The Sterling Nightingale," Gale speaks up, arms crossed over his chest as he studies her. Sil glances at him. Unlike Jackson, his tone is slightly more cynical, as if he finds her lacking in some way. She raises an eyebrow at him, unconcerned. She's quite used to people underestimating her. And besides, it isn't as if this is the first time they are meeting.

"The one and only," she responds, her voice just as cynical as his. She stares him down for a long minute before turning back to Katniss and saying, "I was in the area when I received orders to track you down. It seems that everyone thinks you're dead."

Katniss doesn't even blink. The news doesn't appear to concern her, and Sil tilts her head at her as she stuffs her hands into the pockets of her combat trousers.

"How did you find us?" Peeta's voice wonders, scratchy and sullen. She looks over at him with a frown. He, especially, looks worse for wear.

"…Caesar is a good anchorman. And there's the tracker in your Hollow," she responds, nodding at the device on Katniss's belt.

The girl looks down at it skeptically and narrows her eyes. "You traced us with the Hollow? How?"

Sil laughs at the question and crosses her arms. Her eyes burn with intelligence and knowledge and it makes them all stare. Of course they've known who she is – they've all known for a while now – but to see it so clearly in front of them is another matter entirely.

"Gracious, Katniss," Sil murmurs with a smirk. "As if I can't hack into a simple device to find a couple of coordinates." She pauses, then shrugs, "It doesn't matter now. I'll let Coin know that you're alive and then – "

"No," Katniss cuts in fiercely, taking Sil by surprise. She stares at the Girl on Fire with raised eyebrows, taking note of the fire blazing over her expression, and falls silent. Katniss shakes her head. "You can't tell anyone. With both sides assuming I'm dead, it gives us an advantage that I don't want to lose."

Sil stares at her hard, clearly considering her words but not liking them. With a purse of her mouth, she says, "You're asking me to lie to my commanding officer. Please tell me you at least have a plan." She blinks at Katniss skeptically as if she already knows the answer, and when Katniss's plan doesn't immediately appear, she rubs her forehead.

"You have no plan, no idea what your next move is. Do you?" she asks sarcastically, and turns to Jackson with an expectant expression. Jackson merely looks away with a sigh.

"We're going to assassinate President Snow," Katniss tells her honestly. Her expression blazes with determination, as if she's just daring Sil to question the self-imposed mission.

But Sil just studies her carefully, then turns to look at the ragtag members of the group with a discerning eye. After a pause, she nods, "Well  _that's_  more like it. At least you have a destination in mind. Though no idea how to get there, it seems."

She glances back at Jackson, who shakes her head.

Katniss speaks up, "That's why you can't tell them we're still alive. It'll be easier getting through the city if the focus is somewhere else."

Silence shudders between them for a long minute as Sil stands there in the center of the room, thinking this over. Finnick thinks she looks rather disconnected from the rest of them. Stellar in a way they are not. He isn't particularly surprised by it – Sil has always been a part of her own world, separated from the rest of them in a dozen different ways and in an almost flawless manner.

But now, dressed in black combat gear with guns strapped to her hips and ammo belted around her chest, she looks more than just flawless. She looks…spectacular. Or is he just being biased? A quick glance at the expressions on everyone else's faces makes him think his reaction is carried by the others, too. It only makes him feel marginally better.

Tapping her fingers against her cheek, Sil opens her eyes and looks around the room. Once again, her eyes clash with Finnick's, but neither of them says anything to each other. They both know that they have more important things to discuss at the moment, and what could they say to each other anyhow? The rift between them has only grown wider during their time away from each other. It is now a great, uncrossable chasm.

"Okay," she finally says after what feels like forever. She lifts her hand to her ear and presses down on the earpiece she's wearing. Staring at Katniss the entire time, Sil slowly says, "Nightingale to base. Do you read?"

At first, there's only silence. But after a moment, a scratchy static bursts from the mic.

" _Base to Nightingale. I read you. What is your status?"_

Sil sighs. "…Mission complete. All members of Squad 451 are dead. I repeat: all members of Squad 451 are dead. Over."

She stares at Katniss hard, eyes blazing with a challenge. The static breaks out again,  _"Copy that, Nightingale. Over and out."_

When the message is sent, Sil slowly withdraws her hand from the device and crosses her arms. "…Well. I believe it's time to strategize, don't you? You can't travel 75 blocks in an open war without a solid plan."

"75 blocks?" Gale questions, jolting forward with a frown. "That's impossible. We'll never make it."

Cressida, the camerawoman, sighs and hits her head against the wall behind her, staring up at the ceiling with a hopeless look. They all appear rather hopeless, to be honest. Sil hums.

"You won't," she agrees, stepping up to the table in the center of the room and withdrawing her PAAD. She places it on the tabletop and fiddles with it for a moment before pressing something on the screen. Immediately, a blue map of the Capitol lights up several inches from the wooden surface. She leans in and presses something else. The map changes.

Two extra tiers are added. The blue map of the city streets is pushed upward, and beneath it is a red map of the subway. Under that, another map flickers into existence. Green lights trace the patterns of another layer of the city: a crisscrossing weave of tunnels that seems to go on forever.

"Luckily," Sil adds, pausing as she adjusts the images, "I know another way."

They all crowd in to study the new map.

"Tunnels?" Peeta wonders.

Finnick stares at her. For the first time since she arrived, he addresses her. "…This is how you smuggled people out," he guesses, voice carefully blank and unassuming.

She glances up at him, and her eyes seem wide in the light of the three-dimensional maps. With a nod, Sil murmurs, "I know these tunnels like the back of my hand. We could reach the President's manor by nightfall – if we don't run into any trouble along the way."

"We will. That's inevitable," Jackson cuts in. Sil nods.

"Probably," she admits, drawing back a little. "But we'll never make it if we go above ground. And even if we manage to evade the pods and everything else, the war would be over before we reached the manor. It would take days to dismantle all of the pods."

Katniss looks over at her and slowly wonders, "…We?"

Sil pauses. The question is simple but so intricate. And yet, the answer is just as simple. Of course she will join them. She would not abandon them now. But…

She catches Finnick's eye from across the table and haltingly says, "…As long as you are all in agreement, of course."

She wants his acceptance more than the others – needs it, craves it. She knows that even if he denies her, she will find a way to go with them anyway, but it's the principle of it all. She needs to know that he doesn't completely loath her existence, that he doesn't hate her for her lies and her tricks. She couldn't bear it if he does.

Finnick swallows tightly and opens his mouth to respond when the conversation abruptly stops, interrupted by the flickering of the television as it comes to life. She doesn't get her answer, or her acceptance. Instead, they all get the image of President Snow being broadcast from his office.

" _So, Katniss Everdeen. A poor, unstable girl with nothing but a talent for a bow and arrow…is dead. Not a thinker – not a leader – simply a face plucked from the masses."_  He pauses for a beat of silence and crosses his hands on his desk. _"Was she valuable? She was extremely valuable to your rebellion, because you have no vision, no true leader among you. You call yourselves an Alliance, but we saw what that means. Your soldiers are at each other's throats – "_

The screen flickers again. It seems that District 13 has found a way to interrupt their servers, because President Coin's face abruptly appears in place of Snow's, with a message that is just as clear and just as dramatic. Sil crosses her arms and leans back to watch, hip pushed against the table as she studies the face she knows so well – the face of District 13.

" _For those of you who don't know me, please allow me to introduce myself. I am President Alma Coin, leader of the rebellion. I have interrupted a broadcast from your President, in which he attempted to defame a brave young woman. A face picked from the masses, he called her, as if a leader – a true leader – could be anything else."_

" _I had the privilege of knowing a small town girl from the Seam of District 12, who survived the Hunger Games and the Quarter Quell, and rose up to turn a nation of slaves into an army. Dead or alive, Katniss Everdeen will remain the face of this revolution. She will not have died for nothing. Her vision, and ours, will be realized: a free Panem, with self-determination for all. And in her memory, we will all find the strength to rid Panem of its suppressors. Thank you, and be safe."_

The television flickers off and leaves the room in darkness once more.

"…I had no idea I meant so much to her," Katniss mutters, no doubt hearing the way Coin's voice had caught during the part of her speech that highlighted Katniss's supposed death. Sil snorts.

"Yes. She certainly knows how to use the circumstances to her advantage. My message got through to her, then. You're officially dead. Congratulations," she drawls sarcastically, quirking a brow at Katniss.

"Thanks," Katniss mutters, rolling her eyes at her. Sil purses her mouth.

"…Have you met President Coin?" Finnick suddenly asks. Once again, his voice and his expression are both shut off and unreadable. She has no idea what he's thinking or feeling. Perhaps that's a good thing.

Sil shrugs. "In a sense," is all she says, and drops the subject. She doesn't want to get involved in a lengthy discussion about Coin. They are pressed for time and have a plan to strategize.

Jackson sets them back on course when she says, "We should head out as soon as possible. Where is the closest entrance to these tunnels?" She turns to Sil for an answer.

Sil leans forward to study the map. "We're here," she says, pointing to their coordinates. Her eyes flicker back and forth for a moment as she decides on the best course of action. After a moment, she gestures to a tall building about two blocks away.

"…Is that Gigi's?" Finnick asks, his voice dry. Sil laughs at the tone and glances at him.

"It is," she answers, a secretive smirk playing at the edges of her mouth. "There's an entrance just behind it. As you can imagine, I use it quite often." She shrugs and leans in again to blow up that portion of the map. Gigi's comes into clear view.

"This is the closest entrance. We can get there in a few hours." She looks over at Jackson to see what she thinks, and the leader nods.

"Alright. Let's finish eating and head out. Ten minutes."

They all agree and turn to their bags to pack up. Sil reaches for her PAAD and shuts it off. The map immediately disappears. She's tucking it away when Peeta suddenly says, "You really had us all fooled."

His voice is loud in the silence and seems to drown out the other's whispers and murmured tones. She sees several heads turn their way but tries her best to ignore them, knowing that one in particular seems to be listening a little too closely.

Sil glances at Peeta, who seems to have already packed everything up as is just sitting against the wall waiting.

"It wasn't my intention to fool you. I've just been doing my job," she responds, facing him.

Trying to play it down doesn't seem to work, though. Peeta just smirks and says, "I had absolutely no idea that you were the Sterling Nightingale. When I found out…" he trails off and frowns. "It's good that I didn't know. I would have given your identity away a long time ago. You'd probably be dead."

Sil blinks at him, tilts her head, and says with a simpering, "Well. Now you're just underestimating me. I know this city inside and out. I'm sure I would have found a way to disappear. I'm remarkably good at it, you know."

Katniss, who has been watching their conversation this entire time, murmurs, "How long have you been doing this? Spying?"

Sil raises an eyebrow at the word but doesn't comment on it. Instead she just says, "I began working with President Coin a year after my Games. Any more questions?"

She expects Peeta or Katniss to respond, but instead…instead, the velvety tones of Finnick Odair cuts in with a clipped, "Why?"

She immediately stills, caught off guard at his voice and the brusque nature of his question. Clearing her expression of all emotion, Sil turns to face him and asks, "Why what, darling?" The pet name comes unbidden and unplanned – a familiarity that should not exist between them, but does.

Whether he notices or not, he doesn't show it. He, too, has cleared his face of all emotion when he clarifies, "Why did you decide to become the Sterling Nightingale?"

The question is simple and straightforward, but she can feel the undercurrents beneath it. The weighted quality of every syllable drags into her skin, tearing at her. Piercing her.

She wonders why it is suddenly so hard to look at him directly. Is it because she is so used to looking at him with her masks and disguises firmly set in place? Is she really so terrified of his judgement? Of showing her true self to him?

The answer is just as simple: yes, she is afraid. She has always been afraid. She is so used to hiding from him that to be so honest feels utterly unnerving.

A beat of silence passes between them before she answers. "…I was so full of hatred back then. My mother was taken from me…and I went to the Capitol to get her out. I hoped to smuggle her to a safe house somewhere, but…she had other ideas."

Sil raises her eyes to stare at Finnick and says, "She wanted to go to District 13. She believed it was real. I helped her find it – I used all my resources to discover it, but I knew that I had to be careful. So I created the Silver Lamprey Cornelius that you all know. I became a loyal citizen who did President Snow's bidding without question, and fooled him into thinking I had fallen prey to the wealth of the Capitol. My ruse wasn't supposed to last as long as it did, but when I actually found District 13, they gave me an offer. Something to fight for. And I took it."

She falls silent, only now noticing that the entire room has become quiet too, and that everyone has turned their attention to her story. Feeling distinctly uncomfortable, Sil clears her throat. "I became the Nightingale because when I went into those prison cells to break my mother out and saw the suffering there, I knew I needed to do something to stop it."

She doesn't look at anyone directly, and when it becomes clear that she will not say anything more, they turn back to their bags. Peeta doesn't look away from her though. Sil catches his eye and they stare at each other for a long minute. He seems like an entirely different person – dangerous, somehow, in a way he's never been.

"You didn't smuggle me out. Why?" Peeta asks. She sighs. She had hoped he wouldn't stop to wonder.

"…I wouldn't have been able to get to you without the help of the rebels," she tells him truthfully, hands slipping into her pockets. "The Victors were in high clearance cells and Snow had his eyes on you every second."

He scoffs. "You're the  _Sterling Nightingale_. You've broken much more important people out of prison before."

Sil smiles humorlessly and shakes her head. "Not in the circumstances we were faced with. I'm sorry, Peeta. I truly am."

He looks away without a response and she sighs. They've all gone through trials at the Capitol's hands – horrifying things – but Peeta has received the worst of it. She couldn't have done anything to stop it. Not without compromising her position and possibly giving away District 13's plans in the process.

She assumes that the conversation is over, but she's wrong. Before she can take another breath, a shadow looms over her and she looks up to see Finnick standing beside her. Startled, she freezes and stares at him.

"You and I should talk before we head out," Finnick says, unreadable as ever.

The dim light of the room seems to make his gaze darker than usual, and the way he is standing with his arms crossed and his expression flat doesn't help soften his appearance. He looks like he is ready to do battle with her. She swallows tightly.

Finnick spears her with a look and turns on his heel, heading for the doorway to the stairwell without another word. She stares at his back as he disappears through the threshold, wavering between following him and denying his desire to speak to her.

Her hesitance must be at least somewhat apparent on her face, because Katniss's voice suddenly cuts through the stillness.

"He deserves to know everything you've kept from him," she says. Her voice is nonjudgmental. It helps, but only a little.

Sil swallows and clears her throat. "…Of course he does," she responds in a breathless whisper, more to herself than to Katniss. He deserves so much more than she could ever give him.

She rolls back her shoulders and steps forward, trying to be fearless.

She doesn't think she succeeds.


	48. But it does

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Sil takes the squad into the heart of the Capitol, losses are incurred, and misunderstandings are smoothed over.
> 
> And here is a nice long chapter that cinches some things together - most notably Sil's final secret, which involves matters of the heart. I hope you all enjoy.

 

**Chapter Forty Eight | But it does**

" _Ah! There was a man she might have loved, had he come her way. Everything in him appealed to her romantic imagination; his personality, his strength, his bravery, the loyalty of those who served under him in that same noble cause, and above all, that anonymity which crowned him, as if with a halo of romantic glory." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

Outside the room, the old abandoned stairwell is deathly silent. The dawn has spun into the dilapidated building like spirals of spider silk, casting a lovely glow to an otherwise ruined place. The former occupants are long gone and probably have been since the initial evacuation warning before the air raid. It is like a ghost town all contained in a single space, and it is made all the eerier from the way Finnick retains the silence.

He holds onto it fiercely, even as he hears Sil approach him from behind. So many words beat through him, trying to gain a voice, but he pushes them down. He wants to tell her how worried he's been, how helpless he's felt, how surprised he was when he learned of her true identity. He wants to tell her that he doesn't care – about her lies, her tricks, any of it. But the truth is that he does. When it comes to her, he's always cared a little too much. And seeing her now, in this unexpected twist of events, brings it all crashing to the surface.

Sil doesn't want to be the one to break the silence, but she also doesn't want it to linger. She pauses for a moment, battling between her two desires, but ultimately speaks up. Her voice is breathless and has lost some of its strength when she slowly asks, "…You got my letter?"

She had penned that letter not knowing if she would ever see him again. She had written things on that page that she would have never said otherwise; hinted at emotions she has long skirted away from. She regrets some of those words now, but only because facing him again has never really factored into her plans. She'd known it was always a possibility, of course, but she hadn't been able to think that far ahead at that point.

Well, she'd been able to think a little bit ahead, which Finnick immediately points out when he laughs humorlessly and says, "And the divorce papers."

She stills as her breath gets caught in her throat. He sounds dry and sarcastic, as if he thinks her actions silly and needless. Perhaps they were, but…

He can laugh at her all he wants – she still stands behind what she did. She had never wanted to drag him into her life, and to be officially wedded to each other goes against everything.

Sil looks down at her feet and clears her throat awkwardly. "…And did you sign them?" she wonders haltingly, her voice hesitant and unsure.

She can picture it in her head so clearly – that, the moment he'd seen them, Finnick had signed his name immediately, only too happy to be rid of her. Neither of them had wanted marriage. It only makes sense, and she wouldn't be overly upset. But she  _would_  like to know.

From the corner of her eye, she sees Finnick turn to face her. She doesn't look at him. She can't.

He asks, "Did you want me to?" The question is sharp and pointed, like the edges of a star that has lost its glamor.

She raises her head and stares at him, caught off guard. Had she wanted him to sign the papers? No. She wants to believe that being her husband isn't so terribly bad. Being his wife isn't so bad either. But does she want him to be stuck in a marriage that is little more than a contract? She will not keep him unless he wants to be kept.

He's staring at her hard, as if he's trying to decipher the entire universe that lingers between them. Her breath gets caught again, and when she responds, it's just as breathless as before.

"…I don't know." She swallows and looks away again, intimidated by the steely expression he wears.

She…wasn't expecting this. She had been afraid of it happening though – of his response to her identity being angry and aggressive – but she had hoped for something else. A happier reunion. Her silly wishes feel childish now, and she wonders why she had wasted so much hope on them.

"I didn't," he suddenly says, shoving his hands into the pockets of his combat gear. She looks up and he adds, "I didn't sign the papers."

She feels herself nod slowly. Her voice is gone, vanished between the weave of his words. She wants to ask why, but doesn't have the courage.

"I brought these," Finnick says, and pulls out a chain he's wearing around his neck. On it is her ring. She stares at it in surprise. She hadn't expected to ever see it again.

He takes it off the chain and gives it to her with an odd look in his eye, as if he's almost wary to hand it over. She lets the jewelry fall into her palm and studies it, rubbing her thumb over the pearl with a faraway expression on her face.

"We are still married, after all," Finnick murmurs, and adds, "Technically."

She hums in agreement and smiles for the first time since she's seen him. He doesn't want to admit it, but the sight makes his breath falter. He watches her slide the ring on her finger, feeling like he's a million miles away from her despite being in the same room.

"Thank you, Finnick," Sil says sincerely. "I…I wanted to tell you everything. But I was…I was afraid. Of your response," she ends in a whisper, her smiling face now drawn into a frown.

He furrows his brow. The sight of her smile has forced his anger out of him. In place of it, there is only hesitant hope that doesn't have an outlet. It gets swept up in the storm within his head, tumbling around and around in a fruitless attempt at finding an exit.

"I wouldn't have believed you," he tells her after a pause. He's done a lot of thinking about it back in District 13 and knows that it's the truth. Had she told him back then, he would have laughed in her face and advised her to get her head out of the clouds.

Sil glances up at him with a raised brow and murmurs, "Really? And yet you believe me now."

He shrugs, neither accepting nor denying her words, and says, "I was angry when I found out. I felt like a complete idiot for not realizing it. After I thought about it, I knew I wouldn't have believed you even if you  _had_  told me."

She slowly nods her head, seeing the sense of his words. That he is still apparently angry doesn't surprise her at this point. His expression has some of that anger lingering in the edges, visible for all to see.

"You would have found out all by yourself if we had more time. I would have slipped up eventually." She sighs and hooks her thumb into her ammo belt. "Regardless, it hardly matters now."

He hums in agreement and crosses his arms, peering down at her when he humorlessly says, "No, it doesn't. You lied about sending those rebels to the Capitol prisons. What else did you lie about?" His voice is matter-of-fact; not quite the right tone for those types of questions. Sil pauses to study his face and decides the being truthful now is probably her best bet.

"…I needed to keep my identity a secret, even from you," she haltingly responds, and feels at once as if she's saying the wrong thing. His eyes flare up and she hurries to add, "Surely you understand. You were actively searching for the identity of the Sterling Nightingale because Snow tried to force your hand. I said whatever I needed to say to protect myself."

He looks tired. Exhausted, even. Finnick stares at her for another long moment before he sighs and rubs his forehead with an exasperated frown.

He isn't sure what to think. Is he disappointed that Sil clearly hadn't trusted him enough to tell him who she was? That she assumed that he would turn her over to Snow the moment he found out? A dull pain erupts through him at her suspicion. After everything they've been through, every silent burst of affection that has blossomed between them, she still hadn't trusted him enough to show her true colors. He should be angry – he  _is_  – but a larger part of him is just resigned.

"Fine," he says, sounding withdrawn. "I'm not sure what I expected you to say."

She stares, wanting to explain herself more but not knowing how to. The words don't come to her – instead, they drop down like weights and she can't get to them. She flounders, just as she always does wherever Finnick is concerned.

She opens her mouth to try –  _just try_  – to say something, but it's too late. He steps back toward the door and mutters, "I need to finishing packing up." And, without saying anything else or even looking at her, Finnick disappears and leaves her standing alone in the middle of the desolate stairwell.

She stares at the doorway for a long minute before she finally moves, but she doesn't go to follow. Instead, Sil scrubs at her face and turns to the window. She doesn't open the curtains, just stands in the faint pool of sunlight that filters through them and pretends that it's washing all her regrets away.

But – there are too many of them, and she feels as helpless as ever, caught between two hells with nowhere to run.

Her eyes spin with unshed tears, because Finnick suddenly feels like a complete stranger to her, and she can't do a single thing about it.

* * *

The towering skyscraper that is Gigi's can be seen several blocks before they reach it. Sil has taken this route so many times that she could walk it blind. Her steps are confident, but that's about the only part of her that is. The rest of her quakes with disappointment still lingering from her earlier conversation with Finnick. It had not gone as she had expected, but then again, when has it ever? Nothing about her relationship with Finnick is ever expected.

The atmosphere of the group is dismal and tense, even as they arrive at the entrance to the underground tunnels. Once they shuffle down inside the subway, it becomes even more tense. It's as if the lack of fresh air shuts their hope away.

"Doesn't look like a place Silver Lamprey Cornelius would frequent," Peeta whispers to Katniss, amusement apparent on his face. Finnick, who is standing nearby, tosses them an indecipherable glance that makes Peeta raise an eyebrow. He looks back at Katniss as Finnick moves forward and mutters, "What's with him?"

Katniss shrugs, eyes cloudy as she looks ahead to where Sil is quietly whispering to Jackson several meters away. "…Lover's quarrel," she murmurs back beneath her breath, shooting Peeta a glance. "He's being a drama queen, as usual."

Gale, who steps up beside them, snorts. "Sounds like they should get right along, then."

Katniss is of the mind to agree. Both Finnick and Sil are the two most dramatic people she's ever known – with, perhaps, the exception of Effie. Regardless, their affection for each other is so obvious that it drives Katniss crazy to watch them doubt themselves. If they didn't have a war on their hands, she might force them to admit their feelings just to end her own misery at having to be in the middle of it.

"It's this way," Jackson speaks up, her voice careening loudly in the small space. They all cringe at the loudness and she sighs. Instead of talking, she just gestures for them to follow.

Sil takes the lead. At this point, her primary job is to bring them as close to the mansion as is possible. She can do that. She knows her way around here. She's been using these tunnels for years now and she knows them better than even Snow and his Peacekeepers – otherwise, she would have gotten caught a long time ago.

They avoid the main subway rails as best as possible, barely managing to get out of sight when a subway train rattles by them. Luckily, finding the entrance to the lower tunnels is relatively easy, and Sil leads them down into the underbelly of Capitol society. In a way, the misuse and ugliness reflects the stark truth of the Capitol. Sil always thought it was rather fitting.

"Shall we?" she asks, gesturing ahead to the dank, black tunnel. They can see only a few feet ahead of them before the darkness silences their vision. It is like a blank, eerie purgatory, vast and unending. None of them appear all that willing to venture down this unknown path, but neither do they complain. It isn't as if they have much of a choice.

Sil leads the way, acting as their guide. She's been through these tunnels more times in the last seven years than she cares to admit. Her familiarity with the route is obvious in her confident movements, though no one comments on it. The group falls into a blanket of silence. The only sound is the quiet swoosh of water as they push through it, each trying not to think of where said water comes from. Some thoughts are best left unanswered.

Their silence seems to last for hours, though no one checks to see how long they've been inside the tunnels. They just keep wading through the water, which licks at their shins and reflects off the rounded, close walls around them in eerie patterns brought forth from the flashlights on the top of their guns.

Having lost a few of their initial members, the Star Squad is now comprised of Jackson, Cressida, Mitchell, Gale, Peeta, Finnick, and Katniss, with the addition of Sil. It is a large group. Sil is not used to leading so many through this small space, and inside she worries that their numbers could complicate things should Snow catch wind of their presence here. But there is little to do but carry on, which they do: silently, morosely, for what feels like hours and hours.

Indeed, quite a long time passes before anyone speaks up, but when they pass under one of many ladders that press upward from the tiny space, Peeta quietly wonders, "Where does that lead?"

His voice is loud despite the quiet tone he uses and seems to ricochet through the closed in space noisily. They all pause tensely until the sound echoes away into silence, and Sil looks back at Peeta. Her gaze shifts wordlessly to the shoot that darts suddenly upward towards the ground level above them, and lands upon a very old plate of metal that was hammered to the side of the wall near the exit. On it, there is a faded 67A in black letters, hardly visible.

"If memory serves, this exit would lead you into the heart of the Banking District," she murmurs quietly, keeping her voice down so as to avoid the ensuing echoes. With that, Sil turns back around and keeps walking.

Peeta hums. "I guess you really do know these tunnels like the back of your hand," he muses.

Ahead of them, Sil shrugs her shoulders and sighs dramatically, "You wouldn't believe how many shoes I've ruined down here." She smirks to herself at her own joke and Katniss snorts behind her.

"If we're below the Banking District, that means we've only travelled a couple dozen blocks," she says with a frown, thinking of how many blocks still lays ahead of them.

"Well these tunnels aren't exactly a straight shot forward," Gale whispers, "but it's faster than stopping every five minutes to dismantle a pod."

The group seems to agree, and they once again fall into silence, with only sound of the water to break it apart. They keep on like this for hours, not pausing to rest until Sil estimates that they've gone several dozen blocks further. More ladders like the one that led to the Banking District pop up here and there, which Sil undoubtedly uses to mark her way. The others don't question her techniques. They just keep moving until, at last, Jackson puts up her hand and says, "Let's take a break. I, for one, feel like I could fall asleep at any moment."

Sil glances over her shoulder at them, notes the heaviness of their eyes, and nods. "There's a place not far ahead where we can rest."

She gestures for them to follow. The place she is thinking of is not too far away, and she knows that they will be happier once they reach it. When they do, about ten minutes later, she can tell that they are. The outlet verges off from the main tunnel just slightly, lifted up about three feet from the water line. It definitely beats sitting down in old sewer water.

Sil stands off to the side as they all clamor up the small staircase. She glances off into the darkness of the tunnels, trying to shake the feeling of unease that settles over her shoulders. She doesn't know why, but something feels off. Her instincts have rarely led her astray before, and now, her gut screams at her to keep moving. But one look at her tired companions tells her that a rest is necessary if they are to keep going, and she doesn't argue even as she continues to stare bleakly into the blackness.

"Are you coming?" Jackson asks her, one foot on the short staircase and the other still in the water. The woman studies Sil's expression for a moment, following her gaze into the dark tunnels, and frowns, "What's wrong?"

The question makes some of their companions glance their way, and Sil straightens her shoulders and fixes her expression into one of unconcern. She just shakes her head and moves to follow Jackson, who doesn't question her again when it becomes apparent that Sil isn't going to respond. The squad leader settles in beside the others as Sil climbs up the steps.

When she's at the top, she pauses. The space is cramped with eight of them, and unfortunately for her, there's only one more available seat.

She holds back a sigh as she gingerly sits down beside Finnick, hoping that he can't see the wariness on her face. If he does, he doesn't comment on it. In fact, he doesn't do anything at all. She shouldn't be surprised – Finnick is as good an actor as she is, when he wants to be. His face is a mask of total nonchalance, even as he feels her arm against his. In another world, he might have even pulled her closer, but there are no Capitol cameras watching their every move now. Even if there were, there is no longer any need to continue on with their fake relationship. She shifts a bit to get comfortable, wishing there was more space between them. But as it is, she is pressed up against the very edge of the outcrop, and she doesn't fancy falling over into the stale water below.

Silence once again falls upon them. After passing out some food and eating some of their rations, the group settles in to get some sleep. The clock on Katniss's Hollow tells her that it is only six in the evening, but they've all had a tiring day. It doesn't take long for most of them to doze off. 'Most' being everyone but Finnick and her. Another unfortunate circumstance, the pessimistic side of her brain whispers.

Still, they both remain silent but for their breathing, and Sil keeps her eyes closed in hopes that perhaps she might find some sleep after all – if only to rid herself of the awkwardness she suddenly feels in his presence. She can't remember ever feeling so awkward around him. Even in the beginning of their so-called relationship, when it  _should_  have been awkward and strange, it never was. It's funny, how backwards their story is. How the chapters of their lives seem so out of place. Funny how much she longs for things to be as they used to between them, when everything was more carefree – even though that, too, was a lie.

"You should try to get some sleep," his voice suddenly murmurs, so close beside her that it makes her start in surprise. Her body tenses minutely before she forces it to relax once more, and Sil makes a face.

"I  _am_  trying," she responds, keeping her eyes firmly closed.

He just snorts and shifts a little, tilting his head back against the metal railing behind him. After a long pause of silence, Finnick whispers, "You looked concerned before. What's wrong?"

This time, she does open her eyes. Turning her head, she realizes that he's glancing down at her. His expression contains no trace of the annoyance she has come to expect from him. Instead, his eyes are tinged with what looks like worry, though she tells herself that it's probably just a trick of the light.

"…Nothing's wrong," she tells him, looking away from his eyes before they could pull her into their depths. Finnick raises an eyebrow and waits. She sighs.

"It's only a feeling," she whispers quietly, trying to keep her voice down for the sake of the others. She swallows and says, "I just…can't help but feel like we're in danger."

He's quiet for a while, turning her words over in his head, before responding, "You should probably trust that feeling. It's gotten you this far, hasn't it? And I'm not convinced that Snow doesn't know about these tunnels. It seems too easy."

His confirmation of her worries startles her, in a way. A part of her had expected a firm rebuttal of her concern, not acceptance. But Finnick has always surprised her in one way or another. She shouldn't be surprised about this, either.

Sil looks over at him and frowns. "…Mmm. It does, doesn't it?"

They stare at each other for a long moment, each in their own thoughts, until Finnick abruptly whispers, "Sil…"

She pauses at the strange cadence his voice takes on, encased in what sounds almost like longing – but no, that is a dangerous road to go down, and yet…she feels her own longing build within her like a roaring fire. She blinks and focuses on him completely. It feels natural to do so.

"…Yes?" she whispers when he doesn't say anything more. His eyes flicker over hers as if he's searching for something. She's not sure what he finds, but for once she doesn't try to hide herself away from him. She's so sick of hiding. She wants to be honest for once. She wants to be free of the burdens that her alter ego shoulders.

He takes a breath and opens his mouth to speak, but before he can get the words out, a noise suddenly ricochets through the tunnels.

At once, they both spring to their feet, alert and tense. Without even realizing it, Sil shifts closer to Finnick as they both stare out into the darkness. She prays that the sound was merely a loosened stone or some such thing, but inside her, Sil knows that this is the danger her subconscious has been warning her of.

"Get them up," she whispers to Finnick, eyes wide with fear and blazing with determination. He doesn't pause to wonder at the order. He knows full well what is coming.

The others are not very happy to be awoken, but they don't complain as they quickly gather their things and climbs back into the waters. They don't bother being quiet as they start running through the tunnels, though it will no doubt draw their predators closer to them. Sil takes the lead, guiding them down a smaller tunnel that verges off to the side. It wasn't the original route she had meant for them to take, but she knows her way around these tunnels well enough to know where this one goes.

Her mind is on fire with potential directions. She flicks through each one mentally as she leads them through the network of tunnels, all too aware of the screeches that begin to sound behind them.

"Sil, I hope you know what you're doing!" Jackson exclaims, glancing behind her to see the pack of Mutts in the distance. Though the darkness is complete, there's no mistaking the stark pale skin of their predators or the loud cries that tear through their throats.

Sil swallows tightly at the sudden weight of responsibility upon her shoulders. If she makes a wrong turn, it could mean their end. She presses her lips into a thin line and shouts, "There's an entrance up ahead, just follow me!"

They don't have much choice but to obey. Sil leads them down another narrow side-tunnel, clutching her gun tightly as she runs. The waters impede their progress slightly, but there is little to do about it but keep pushing forward. Soon, her legs are straining from the exertion and she hopes her companions are staying close behind her.

"In here – this way – " she shouts, pointing down a small, even narrower tunnel that springs up to their left. She pauses outside of it as the others rush inside. She doesn't expect Finnick to grab her arm and jerk her along with him before they're all accounted for. The sudden pull makes her very nearly trip on a jagged rock lurking beneath the dark water, and she narrowly avoids scraping her hand on the wall beside her. A brief burst of annoyance momentarily flairs through her until she catches sight of his face, which is frozen in fear. After a moment, he lowers his hand to clutch hers, tightly grasping her as he pulls her along, and annoyance is suddenly the last thing she feels towards him.

She can't stop to think on it, though. The entrance is ahead. The others can see it, rising up before them like a beacon of hope. They make for it, running wildly even as they have to duck their heads to avoid the low ceiling of the tunnel. The Mutts are very close behind them now, practically on their heels. It only makes them push faster.

"Katniss!" Jackson yells once they burst into the domed room. The leader points to the ladder before grasping her gun and shooting a volley of bullets into the oncoming wall of Mutts. Katniss, though, only pushes Peeta toward the ladder instead, and he starts clamoring up it as fast as he can.

The Mutts are at last upon them, and they turn to meet them head on. Sil lift her gun and, with Finnick at her side, the pair of them take down as many as they can, keeping an eye on their companions to ensure that no one is taken off guard.

Slowly, their group begins to thin out as they take to the ladder. Katniss goes next, with Gale close behind. Jackson calls for Sil to go up, but she isn't close enough to the ladder to make good time and merely pushes the older women towards it instead. The others shoot from above, trying to protect those who are still in the tunnels.

They can't protect them all, though. There are too many Mutts. They lurch into the enclosed space quickly, with lithe grace that seems to counteract the grotesque quality of their physical forms. Their faces sightless and blind. The places where their eyes should be is covered by a film of white skin, but it doesn't seem to deter them. Their lack of sight is made up for with instinct and power, which they use to tear Jackson from the ladder as she starts to climb up. Sil and Finnick aren't close enough to help her, and even though Gale shoots a bullet into the creature, it doesn't stop it from pulling Jackson under the water. The murky sound of her screams as they tear into her is haunting.

"Jackson!" Cressida yells, but there is no response.

The Mutts are never ending. Sil knows that they will never be able to take them all down. When one wave is killed, another one takes its place. They pour from the tunnels as if they're springing up from the very waters themselves, too numerous to hope to defeat in their entirety.

"Get to the ladder, Sil," Finnick shouts, trying to hold them off long enough for her to make the climb. She pauses though, not wanting to leave him here alone. He notices her hesitation and shoves her toward the ladder with an abrupt, "Go!"

She stumbles to it, pulling herself up as fast as she can. She knows that the sooner she can reach the top, the sooner she can fire at them from above. Her heart beats like a hummingbird in her chest, to the point where it almost hurts. Her breath is spiraling out of her quick and hard, and even when she pulls herself onto the rough pavement above, she is still struck with a fear so intense that she can hardly see straight.

"Finnick!" she cries, leaning over the ladder and staring at his bronze hair. He's pushed against the ladder below, firing so quickly that she can barely track his movements. A part of her feels inspired by such a sight, but mostly she is overcome by such intense fear that her entire body is shaking with it. The moment there is a lull in the approaching Mutts, Finnick turns and starts climbing up, going as fast as he can. He makes it halfway up when he is met with complications.

A Mutt throws itself at the ladder, its long arm reaching up and grasping at Finnick's shin. Pain erupts over Finnick's expression as the creature claws its way down his leg, drawing blood with several deep gashes. The Mutt very nearly rips Finnick from the ladder entirely, and probably would have if Gale doesn't take a shot at the thing, putting a bullet into its shoulder from above.

Still, it doesn't completely deter the Mutt. The creature keeps clawing its way over Finnick's leg until Gale manages to put another bullet into the Mutt's side, knocking it down into the shallow waters below and giving Finnick the time he needs to pull himself to the top.

"Finnick," Sil gasps again, "Fin – "

Sil reaches for him, crying out in relief when her fingers close around his arms. Gale and Jackson drag him the rest of the way up, heaving him over the edge of the entrance and rolling him onto the concrete. The moment Finnick is free, Cressida tosses a grenade into the tunnels and slams the rounded door shut with a vengeance and a generous volley of cusses.

But Sil barely hears. Neither does she hear the sound of the explosion ricocheting through the ground beneath them, or the way Katniss immediately begins to mutter a list of things they would need to properly tend to the wound – things that they seem to have lost somewhere in the tunnels during their wild escape. No – Sil hears nothing, and sees nothing, but Finnick.

"Finnick," she heaves again, barely breathing. Her voice is scratchy and sounds far away to her own ears, as if she's not really there. Her vision is blurry for reasons she doesn't yet know, and she hears rather than feels herself gasping for air. Her lungs can't seem to hold enough breath to allow her to calm down. She flutters her hands over him, grasping at his collar, his hands, moving a strand of hair away from his forehead and gingerly cupping the side of his face as she leans over him.

All the while Finnick stares at her through pained eyes, breathing hard. He feels like his leg has just been ripped apart – well, in a way, he supposes it has – but to be honest, that is the least of his concerns. He is far more attentive to the fact that Silver Lamprey Cornelius is  _crying_.

There are tears rolling down her face, and her eyes are red and wild. Her hair has come undone from the ponytail it had been in before, and tumbles now over her shoulders in a white-blonde mess, far from the elegant styles he usually sees on her. Indeed, there is truly nothing elegant or glamorous about her in this moment with her red cheeks and puffy eyes, but for some reason Finnick thinks he's never seen her more beautiful.

Well. He is actually very much aware of said reason, but that is a thought for another time. Preferably when they are not in the middle of war torn streets in the Capitol, surrounded by their squad while he bleeds out on the pavement.

"We need to get out of sight," Gale says, exchanging a glance with Katniss. The Girl on Fire purses her mouth and turns back to the pair, eyeing Finnick's leg critically. She looks up to tell him that she needs to bandage the wound, but the impassioned way the two of them are staring at each other makes her wonder if either of them would hear her anyway. She rolls her eyes and pulls out her knife, intent on cutting away Finnick's pant below the knee so as to properly bandage the injury.

Finnick hardly notices, for he has eyes only for Sil. He lifts his hand to her face, slipping his palm to her cheek, and is subtly surprised at the way she immediately reacts to his touch. She brings her hand to his and holds him there, fingers tightly grasping him as if she thinks he might float away on an errant wind.

The beauty of the moment doesn't last very long, though.

"Ow! Christ, Katniss!" Finnick suddenly curses, tearing his eyes away from Sil to glare fitfully at the woman who is now wrapping a makeshift tourniquet beneath his knee. The exclamation seems to snap Sil out of the daze she'd been in, much to Finnick's chagrin. He rather likes the way she'd been looking at him just now. If his heart isn't beating as fast as it is from their recent excursion with the Mutts, one of those glances would certainly set it on fire once more.

"Gracious," Sil gasps, edging back quickly and springing to her feet. "We've got to get out of here before our location is compromised."

Gale rolls his eyes and mutters, "That's what I  _just_  said."

Sil barely hears the comment as she turns to look at Katniss. "If we can carry him for a few blocks, I know a safe house that has bandages and plenty of ammunition."

Finnick would normally say something about that – he certainly doesn't need someone to  _carry_  him – but the moment he sits up, it becomes rather apparent that he is in no state to walk by himself.

He grunts in pain as his vision blurs, head spinning dizzily from the loss of blood and the agony that splinters through his leg. He only has a few moments to collect himself before Gale is at his side, swinging his arm over his shoulders and heaving him to his feet. The additional weight of another body makes Gale breathe out as he adjusts the burden, but he doesn't complain. He only sends a nod to Sil and shares a careful glance with Katniss, hoping that they haven't wasted too much time on their short recovery.

Sil takes the lead once more, prowling to the corner of the street and carefully peering down the stretch of road. The war-torn city is as ragged as ever. Broken buildings are the least of their concerns, though. She mentally calculates how many blocks lie between them and Dorsey's shop and prays to whatever god is out there that they make it before Peacekeepers descend upon them.

Katniss is at her side in seconds, her expression as fierce as ever. She scans the street and looks at Sil. They share a glance that speaks more loudly than all the words in existence, and Sil feels strangely at ease in her presence. The Girl on Fire has that effect, it seems.

"How many blocks?" Katniss whispers, her voice low enough so that only Sil hears. She looks to the Nightingale, who is at once a completely different person than the one who had only just been crying over Finnick's near demise, and the spy sends her a quirked smile.

"Three," she responds, pulling her pistol out of her ammo belt and unlocking the safety. They stare at each other for a moment before Katniss gives a staunch nod, and Sil looks over her shoulder.

Finnick immediately catches her eye. He is hanging off of Gale's form with a painful expression, but his eyes are just as stubborn as ever. A quick glance at her other remaining companions tells Sil that they should be fine, so long as they don't run into too much trouble. She can only hope they're lucky enough for that.

They head into the street at a pace that is both unforgiving as well as careful, attentive to the fact that Finnick cannot move too quickly. With Katniss at her side, Sil brings them hastily across one block, keeping to the edge of the buildings in case they need to find cover. The city seems to watch them as they go. Her instincts flair to life before they get to the next street.

"Katniss – " she starts, right before the blaring sound of a gunshot tears through the eerie silence.

They all throw themselves into the crevice of an alleyway. Gale shoves Finnick to the wall as he reaches for his gun, but Sil and Katniss are one step ahead of him. Amidst the haze of pain that shatters through Finnick's body, he watches as Sil takes out an armored Peacekeeper with one well-aimed shot, daringly reaching around the corner of the alleyway and ducking back against the wall quick as ever. He knows that she has experience with combat, but to see it up close is another thing entirely. It's a shame he can't admire her as fully as he might have, for the majority of his consciousness is focused completely on the agony of his injury.

"There's more incoming!" Gale shouts from off to the side, continuously shooting rounds from his position to Finnick's right. A burst of anticipation threads through the group. They are clearly outnumbered and outgunned, pressed into this dead end alley with no way of escaping. Sil clenches her fingers around her gun so tightly that her knuckles flush white. Hopelessness drags her down into despair…until determination bolsters her back up moments later.

She reaches into a strap on her black armored vest and pulls out a lethal looking handgun. Beside her, Katniss looks over with a raised brow, and Sil draws in a deep breath.

"Look for an old consignment shop on the corner of South Main. Ask for Dorsey," she tells her abruptly.

Katniss balks at what sounds like a goodbye. With a fierce expression of rebuttal, the Girl on Fire hisses, "No way are you staying behind."

Surprised amusement flickers over Sil's face for a brief moment. She chuckles fondly at Katniss, her unlikely ally. She never would have thought they would be working together so closely, but then again, war tends to have that effect on people.

After a quick glance at their ragtag companions, Sil sends Katniss the too-wide grin that they'd all come to recognize a little too well, and says in a playful voice, "Gracious, Katniss darling, there's no need to be so dramatic. President Snow wouldn't allow his soldiers to kill me just yet. He knows I'm the only one who he can turn to for advice, you know. Poor thing is just so  _dreadfully_  incapable when it comes to fashion."

With a theatrical sigh, Sil winks at the girl and presses the grip of her pistol into Katniss's hand. "Do me a favor and hold onto this for me. It's my favorite."

Finnick frowns mightily at this exchange, having heard the majority of the words over the rush of blood that pounds through his head. It's clear that Sil intends to give them a chance at escape. It's folly though. Even if she manages to come out of this alive, the Peacekeepers know that they have the Girl on Fire cornered. They wouldn't just let her get away, even if they succeed at capturing the Nightingale.

He surges forward, keeping one hand against the wall so that he doesn't collapse to the ground. His head splinters at the sudden movement, but all Finnick cares about is that the woman he's unwittingly fallen for is preparing to sacrifice herself for them. He can't let her do it.

"Silver – " he gasps, clenching his fist tightly as she turns to him. But she doesn't let him finish his train of thought.

"Finnick," she interrupts, a still sentinel in the entrance of the alleyway. She smiles at him, eyes softening as she takes in the sight of him. The worried, fearful expression on his face shines through his pain, and she knows that it's for her. It is a definitive improvement from the disappointed resignation he had treated her with before.

She doesn't know if this is the end, or if what she's about to tell him will change anything between them. Maybe they just aren't meant to be. Maybe the paths of their lives were never supposed to cross. But this is not a moment for what-ifs. Danger surrounds them like a blanket and her heart beats too fast to wonder at its longing.

She catches Finnick's eye, smiles, and says something he does not expect.

"I love you."

Right in the middle of this torn down alley and all their friends. Right in the middle of war. She has lived half immersed in shadows for years, held onto her secrets so tightly that she'd almost forgotten herself entirely, but…the beating of her heart doesn't mourn the loss of this secret. No, this secret is not meant to be kept.

Finnick's shocked expression might've frightened her, if this had been any other moment, but Sil's blood is pumping with adrenaline and she is unafraid, for once, of his response to her. In fact, she doesn't even bother waiting for one as she sends him a roguish grin and claps Katniss on the shoulder.

With that, she boldly steps out into the street, and every step she takes is a step that she walks not as the Nightingale, but as Silver Lamprey Cornelius – with nothing, whatsoever, to hide.


	49. For I am lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which the Star Squad meets Mr. Dorsey, Katniss and Gale make their way to Snow's mansion, and Silver comes face to face with the devil himself.

 

**Chapter Forty Nine | For I am lost**

" _Oh! That fiend in human shape, next to her, knew human – female – nature well. He had played upon her feelings as a skilled musician plays upon an instrument. He had gauged her very thoughts to a nicety." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

They surround her almost immediately. The Peacekeepers can clearly see that she is weaponless and they do not hesitate in taking advantage of this fact. This is their mistake, because the Sterling Nightingale is never without a weapon.

The moment they are close enough, Sil darts forward, grabs the arm of the nearest, and twists. A sickening snap resonates through the small street, followed immediately by a scream of pain as the Peacekeeper falls to his knees, his arm hanging at an odd angle. It is the final straw to an ongoing sonata that is clearly past its finish. But – Sil's boldness does provide the distraction they all need.

As the furious soldiers descend upon her with singular purpose, Katniss bolts in the other direction with the group close behind. They run to the other end of the street. Gale has to all but drag Finnick along with him, for the pain of the Victor's injured leg threatens to send him to his knees. They somehow make it into the shadows of the opposing building, though several Peacekeepers see their movement and start toward them. Cressida holds down the fort as she pulls out her gun and takes to one knee, nodding at Katniss.

"I'll catch up. Go," she tells the Girl on Fire, one rebel to another. Katniss lingers only a moment, her eyes falling first on Cressida and then on Sil before she nods.

"Don't take too long," she responds, though Cressida isn't entirely sure that the girl is only talking to her. Cornelius must have had a strong effect on the Victor to bring out this amount of worry from the depths of her eyes.

Or maybe it's just guilt, and pity, that forces her to linger, for as a Peacekeeper plunges a knife into Sil's shoulder, the sound of her pained yelp reverberates through the entire clearing.

"Sil! Let me go, I can help distract them – " Finnick struggles behind her, staring blindly at Silver's figure. Gale just pulls him against the wall, blocking his view of the District 1 Victor and not responding.

That is most definitely their cue to leave, especially when Cressida pulls the trigger and shoots a bullet into the oncoming Peacekeeper soldier who is intent on tailing them.

"Come on!" Gale demands, and the dwindling group drags themselves forward, following Sil's hasty directions as they head towards South Main Street. It's not too far away – perhaps a few blocks more – though they can still hear the sound of bullets firing even as they reach it.

True to Sil's word, there is a dingy old consignment shop right there on the corner. Katniss heads for it immediately, noting that the sign hanging above the door is in need of some new paint – and perhaps a little more discretion. The words 'Sterling Silver Consignments' certainly makes them all balk, for its sarcastic message is clear as day. At least they know they've found the right building.

They all hurtle inside and don't relax until the blinds are shut and the door is firmly locked. Not that any of this will help them if the Peacekeepers discover their location, but at least it lends them a small shred of safety that they wouldn't have had on the streets of the Capitol.

The commotion of their entrance does not go unnoticed.

"I don't know if you kids realize this, but the shop is actually  _closed,"_  a dry voice cuts through the silence. In unison, the group turns towards the speaker, a man who appears to be in his late forties and a bit worse for wear. He raises an eyebrow at the ragtag band and adds, "War is apparently bad for business."

He chuckles as if he doesn't have a care in the world even though the entire city is in a pandemonium and this particular neighborhood has been left abandoned days ago. Katniss is struck with the sudden thought that he rather reminds her of Haymitch. She hopes the similarities start and end with the sarcasm.

"Mr. Dorsey?" she asks, and the man's eyes blaze intelligently as he peers at her.

"…Ah. The Girl on Fire…" he muses, turning his eyes to the rest of the group. His gaze darkens when he asks, "Where's Silver?"

They darken even more when no one answers.

However, Dorsey isn't one to idle around when he's got a group of the most wanted people in Panem standing in his tiny shop. He swings around the counter and doesn't waste any time in crouching down and pulling the corner of the threadbare rug away, revealing a hatch door that's been carefully blended into the rest of the baseboards.

When he opens it to reveal a rusty metal stairway that descends into the darkness, he says, "Come along, then. We've got medical equipment down here for your friend. And some refreshments." He laughs, "War makes a person hungry, am I right?"

With that, he disappears down the stairs, flicking a light switch in the process.

Katniss and Gale share a wary look, but no one refuses sanctuary. They aren't in a position to turn away from assistance, even if said assistance comes in the form of a sardonic man whose loyalty seems difficult to place.

They follow him. Gale and Finnick go last, and each downward step makes Finnick grit his teeth painfully as his wounds flare up. The moment they are all assembled, Dorsey takes to the stairs once more to close the hatch and erase their presence.

The small room beneath the shop is utilitarian, to say the least. It is rugged, with one long table at its center and a curtained doorway leading away to the side. There are maps littering the surface of the table, well used and wrinkled in some places, as if they've been rolled and unrolled dozens of times. An enormous tapestry takes up one entire wall, showing off a map of Panem, with all its districts and landmarks. Some shelves are pressed to the other wall, containing boxes of unmarked items that are somewhat in disarray. All in all, it isn't the most luxurious place in the Capitol, but there are traces of niceties lingering here and there, which offsets the practical efficiency of the space.

Two armchairs take up one of the corners, with what looks like a mahogany table sitting between them. There's a fine silver coffee percolator on another table, which is also host to some porcelain cups and saucers. There's even what appears to be a soft cashmere blanket thrown over one of the armchairs, looking entirely out of place.

Sil's presence here is irrefutable, even if the woman in question is currently MIA. The thought makes Finnick buckle under the weight of their current demons, which seem to wrangle free of their cages now that they are relatively safe.

"Sit him down," Dorsey says to Gale, gesturing to one of the chairs. He heads over to one of the shelves and pulls out a box that is filled with medical equipment.

"You must be Finnick Odair," Dorsey muses as he kneels down in front of the injured Victor. He looks up at him and tilts his head, pausing a moment to consider the man who has claimed Silver's heart. With a grin, Dorsey chuckles, "You're even more of a daydream in person." Finnick presses out a pained grimace that's probably meant to be a smirk, but Dorsey doesn't comment on it.

Instead, he says, "Now I see why Sil was so worked up over you. Ha! You shoulda seen her when Snow first announced your relationship. She couldn't wrap her head around it at all. It was pretty funny, actually."

He takes a pair of fabric scissors and starts cutting away more of Finnick's pantleg, trying to get a better look at the damage of his wound. When he gets a good look at the claw marks, he cringes and mutters, "That look like it hurts."

Finnick grinds out, "It does." He grips the edges of the armchair and sets his jaw as Dorsey starts treating the wounds. The pain is horrendous.

"Speaking of Silver," Peeta suddenly speaks up, for the first time in a while, "isn't it a bit obvious that you're a rebel, considering the name of your shop?"

The question makes Dorsey laugh aloud. Finnick sends Peeta a glower when the man's laughter accidentally makes the pain from the injury flare up even worse.

"Oh believe me, Sil had a beef to pick with me when she saw that I'd changed the name on her. This is a consignment store that deals with jewelry though. The name's never garnered any unwanted attention. You're safe here," he says, no doubt to put them at ease.

It doesn't help all that much. After all, now that Silver's identity is well known throughout Panem, her ties to this shop are that much more obvious. They can only hope that Snow is too distracted with District 13 to connect the dots.

Dorsey keeps working on Finnick injury for a while. The others loiter around while he works, breaking out some of the 'refreshments' that Dorsey had told them to help themselves to. Surprisingly, the fridge pushed into another corner of the room is well stocked, loaded with hearty dishes that, again, makes Sil's presence here that much more potent.

They make some coffee and enjoy a few moments of comfort while Dorsey wraps up Finnick's leg and says, "It'll leave a mark. We don't have any of that fancy medical technology that will remove scars like they do in the hospitals around here."

Finnick just shrugs. "I can live with a few scratches." He's got more scars than the average person, after all, though most of them are emotional in nature.

Dorsey gives him a nod and stands up, moving to put the box where it belongs. Katniss hands Finnick a plate of cold stew and a roll of the doughy, cakey bread that he knows is a District 1 specialty. The sight of it makes his throat close up momentarily, before he pushes down his grief and swallows a heaping spoonful of the stew.

As a few of them top off their bowls with seconds, Dorsey asks, "So what's the plan? Assuming you actually have one, that is." He peers at them with no shortage of sarcasm edging through his eyes.

It is an important question, though. With only four of them left, they need a solid plan moving forward. Finnick will obviously be exempt from any action, seeing as he would only drag them down due to his injury. Peeta, too, may be better off staying here where he is safe. That leaves Katniss and Gale. They both glance at each other. Dorsey sighs.

"We've got plenty of resources here," the older man begins, gesturing around the small room with a wide sweep of his hand. When nobody answers, he frowns and thoughtfully murmurs, "You're heading to the President's Mansion, I take it? You're only a couple blocks away. Snow has just called for a city-wide evacuation. Everyone remaining in the Capitol is heading over to the mansion as we speak. You can go undercover. Walk right up to him."

At this Katniss raises her head hopefully, but Finnick scoffs and asks, "It'll be a little hard disguising the most wanted woman in the country. Someone will recognize her."

Dorsey chuckles and throws the District 4 Victor a smirk. "No, they won't."

The confidence in his voice is baffling to them, until Dorsey walks over to the curtained threshold that has thus far remained untouched. He draws it open, revealing a small room that veers off to the side. They all crowd over to it – even Finnick, who forces himself to stand up and see what the commotion is about. His curiosity is endless, at least when it comes to the elusive woman he is still learning about. The short trip is worth the pain though, for in the small room is a plethora of items that makes Sil's role seem so much more apparent.

Outfits, armor, guns. Belts of ammunition. A vanity table full of hair dyes and make-up. Jewelry and feathers stuffed into one corner, and shimmery ballgowns in another. There are bullet proof vests hanging from a rack by the wall, and goggles and face masks and pretty much everything one could imagine. There is even what looks like a genuine Peacekeeper helmet sitting on the far table, next to its matching suit of white armor.

The corner of Finnick's mouth swings up without his permission. The realization that he has been so wrong about Silver Lamprey Cornelius for so many years should be disappointing to him, but at this point, he feels nothing of the sort.

Her huge closet back at her apartment is  _nothing_  compared to this one. That, filled with stilettos and Gigi's silk, was only a farce. This…it is her real closet; a reflection of who Sil truly is.

Dorsey shoots them all a grin and drawls, "Now, how about that disguise?"

He turns to the closet and starts tossing clothes at Katniss, who nearly stumbles trying to catch everything. Dorsey's methods leave much to be desired, but in the end, she can't complain.

Katniss has to hand it to Sil: she looks nothing like herself. It isn't just the change to civilian clothes, its every single detail that Peeta had used to transition her from the wanted rebel to an ordinary Capitolite seeking refuge. To say that Peeta had enjoyed painting make-up on her face and twisting her hair into a foreign style far different from her usual braid would be true. Perhaps it is his penchant for art, but he does wonders with both herself and with Gale.

By the time they are done, they are both wearing different clothes. Katniss is in a long flowing robe that ties at the front and is made from a thick, woolen fabric. It is, in essence, a cape, and it certainly does a good job hiding the bullet-proof vest that she's wearing beneath it. The hood is pulled up over her head, partially hiding the fancifully twisted bun that Peeta had somehow known how to create. With the help of contoured lines, her face shape is different, less  _her_. Gale is similarly changed.

Rather than a cape, Gale wears a pair of trousers and a lightweight jacket over the vest they'd strapped to his torso. Since his face isn't nearly as well known as hers, Gale doesn't have such a strikingly altered appearance. He is wearing some make-up, though. Peeta had wanted them to fit in with the others, and men in the Capitol do love their make-up nearly as much as the women.

Back at Dorsey's shop, they had pondered over a plan for many long minutes until Katniss decided that the only thing to do at this point is to meet Snow head on. Because of Peeta's state and Finnick's injury, only Gale would accompany her. Peeta hadn't much liked that, but in the end, he'd reluctantly agreed to stay behind. And so Katniss and Gale had turned their attention to the extensive closet to hunt down fresh weapons and ammunition. Katniss had never really liked clothes, but Sil's closet is so fascinating that she doesn't minded exploring it at all. She hopes the District 1 Victor won't mind.

"Let's go," Gale whispers at Katniss once they get outside and join the group of refugees. Katniss doesn't outwardly respond, but he knows she's heard him when she follows him into the crowd.

The closer they get to the President's manor, the more Capitolites line the streets. As the towering building swings up before them, Katniss throws Gale a look and together, they hurry down the street…until they are stopped by the sight of Peacekeepers standing guard along the road. Capitolites rush past them, seeing the soldiers and feeling a sense of relief and safety in their presence. But Katniss and Gale feel only horror.

In a move that makes little sense but is meant to buy some time to think about what to do, Katniss grabs Gale's arm and they quickly spin around on their heels, walking back the way they came. Gale throws her a confused glance and mutters, "What are you doing?"

His voice is low and near silent. They don't want to draw attention to themselves.

Katniss frantically hisses, "I don't know!"

But then, in the midst of her confusion and uneasiness, she has a revelation. Here she is, dressed up in borrowed clothes that don't belong to her, hidden in plain sight. Had she not been disguised as she is, Katniss is sure that the civilians and Peacekeepers alike would have recognized her immediately, but she is able to walk right in front of them as if she were a mere ghost. It is a situation that Sil must have been in a hundred times. And so she wonders, what would Sil do if she was here right now? What action would the spy take?

Well, she certainly wouldn't go back the way she'd come.

Gritting her teeth in anxiety, Katniss draws to a stop and turns back around. Gale follows suit, sending her a confused look that she probably deserves. Instead of explaining herself though, she just heads back, bending her shoulders into herself and keeping her face hidden by the shadows of her hood. There is only one direction to go. Fate seems to push them forward, and offers no other route. They have to continue, even if they're caught and captured in the process.

For what is a revolution if not a battle of ideals and a taste for freedom? She has both, and if she is not willing to die for the cause, then can she truly claim to be the rebel that Panem thinks of her as?

"Come on," she whispers to Gale, whose response comes in the way his eyes briefly catch hers. Together, they walk towards their destiny, but as they get closer to danger – and the President's mansion – the idealistic notion of fate suddenly doesn't seem so spectacular.

Prim is here. Katniss sees her almost immediately, drawn to the sound of her familiar voice. It is a sound that she hasn't heard for far too long, and her heart begins to pound when she catches sight of her younger sister. The girl who is not really a girl at all, anymore, is tending to a group of children just outside of the manor. They are Capitolite kids, ranging from very young to about ten or so. Where their parents are, Katniss does not know. They seem to be alone in the world. Some are crying, some injured, but Prim and the other nurses don't ignore their plight. It does not matter whose side they're on. Children should not have to pledge allegiance in war.

But the sight of her sister is not what makes Katniss's heart pound. What shocks her and frightens her simultaneously is the sight of dozens of beeping provision parachutes raining down from the sky – right into the group of medics and children.

She doesn't know why her heart suddenly pushes into her throat. Her skin prickles with a sense of danger that she cannot quite place. All Katniss knows is that Prim needs to get out of there, as soon as possible. Something doesn't feel right.

In the back of her mind, she wonders if Sil would break her cover in a moment like this. The thought is fleeting though – she cannot waste time musing over the supposed actions of others. She is not Silver Lamprey Cornelius. She acts on a different set of principles, and those principles are what ultimately has her lurching forward and shouting, "PRIM!" at the top of her lungs.

She doesn't look behind her to see how Gale reacts to the abrupt drop of her disguise. To be perfectly honest, she doesn't really care. She cares about one thing and one thing only: the life of her only sibling, the girl who she's been protecting for as long as she can remember.

"PRIMROSE!" she yells over the noise of the courtyard. They've reached the mansion alright, though not quite in the manner Katniss had envisioned. She certainly hadn't pictured this particular scenario.

But – the shouts catch Prim's attention nonetheless. She jerks her head up, eyes scanning the crowd. When she sees Katniss pushing toward her, her face splits up into a grin that seems to lighten her entire face and turns her back into the young girl from her childhood.

It lasts three seconds, and then the beeping containers that everyone assumes are carrying medical supplies hit the ground. There is immediate pandemonium as a huge explosion rocks through the courtyard.

Fire bursts forth. Capitolites and Peacekeepers start shouting, screaming at the sight of the innocents being torn into. Their shouts don't last for very long before they, too, become the victims of the explosion. They are all pushed back like ragdolls being tossed through the air. Katniss is one of them.

She falls hard onto the pavement a dozen or so feet back. Her heads hits the cement. She can't breathe, can't hear, can't speak. She can feel something wet on her face and isn't sure if it's blood or tears, but it doesn't matter in the end. Her vision darkens, and the fear she had felt just seconds ago vanishes along with the rest of her consciousness.

* * *

She always knew it was a risk, being caught, but when Sil is brought to Snow's mansion, pushed and prodded by Peacekeepers who seem determined to make her journey as hellish as possible, she isn't quite prepared for it all.

She'd like to say that she is unafraid, but the way her heart is beating frantically in her chest tells her that her faux courage is a lie. She holds her head up anyway, for she is equally determined to at least appear fearless in front of the man who has made her life a hell all on his own.

Snow doesn't like being kept waiting, and she's kept him waiting for seven years. Seven years spent trying to find the Sterling Nightingale. Seven years of being outsmarted, of having his power slowly taken away prisoner by prisoner. Seven years is a long time and President Snow is lacking in patience.

The Peacekeepers must have informed him of her capture because they lead her directly to his office. She tries not to remember the last time she had walked down these luxurious halls. The past is behind her now, where it will stay. The future seems murky, at best, and nonexistent at worse.

His eyes light up when he sees her. A cruel smile plays upon the edges of his mouth. Victory, at last. Surrounded by Peacekeepers, with hands bound by thick chains that weigh down her arms in a vice-like grip, Sil is sure that she looks nothing like the roguish hero that Panem assumes her to be. Still, she tries her very best. She's rather good at putting on a show, after all.

"President," she smirks, straightening her back and meeting Snow's eye impishly, as if she has dozens more secrets that she keeps hidden away from him. She doesn't, not really – her last card has been played, and her hand has come up empty, at least for her. But hopefully Katniss will be able to use her final sacrifice to rid the world of this man's horrendous deeds.

Snow doesn't seem taken aback by her fearless façade. He just leans back in his leather chair and studies her, as if she's suddenly the most fascinating person in Panem. He hums below his breath and slowly muses, "Silver Lamprey Cornelius."

Her name sounds like death on his tongue.

He stands up, fingers resting on the surface of his desk as he blinks at her. He studies her form quietly, draws his gaze from her face to the chains that secure her wrists together as if she were a common criminal. But they both know that there is nothing common about her. There never was.

"Imagine my surprise when Felix came to me with the shocking discovery of your true identity, that the thief who has stolen from me for  _years_  is actually you. I had thought that you were as loyal as any Capitol citizen. You certainly did a wonderful job convincing everyone that you were a brainless, insipid idiot." He smiles at her and she smiles back, as if they are merely conversing about the weather and not throwing insults left and right.

"Thank you. I daresay I did a dreadfully good job convincing  _you,_  Mr. President," she remarks, leaning on one hip. Her chains rattle from the shift, but she doesn't outwardly notice them.

His eyes flash and she knows that she's treading on thin ice, but really, she might as well go down with some fight in her. She's gotten this far, after all.

"I've been working with President Coin for years now, acting as an informant to District 13. And, as you so elegantly put it, stealing innocent souls from you in the process. Tell me, did you suspect me at all, or did it take me writing it out for you before you truly unraveled the mystery of the Nightingale?" she wonders snarkily, and his jaw tightens.

Instead of answering, Snow slowly breathes out and turns his gaze to the wide, floor length windows to his left. The view is as glamorous as the office's furnishings, showing off a manicured, well kept lawn that spans generously around the mansion as if it is its own little world. Ignoring her for the time being, the President of Panem idly walks over to the windows, resting his hands behind his back as he peruses the landscape before him.

If she didn't know any better, Sil would say that he had already forgotten about her, but she recognizes this action. It's one of his tells, a trick he uses to make people uncomfortable enough to comply to him. Seven years living beneath the iron grip of his rule has made Sil very familiar to his games, both in and out of the arena.

His silence, though, does not affect her as it used to. Like so many of the things she has experienced in her short life, she has grown numb to this, too.

Taking in a breath, Snow turns to her with a raised eyebrow and says, "The fame that I have given you has made you great. I see that now. So let me ask you something. What is it that you've hoped to accomplish during this little rebellious stunt?"

Sil tilts her head at him in surprise. "The fame you have given me? I earned that fame. I fought for my victory in my Games. I killed children to ensure my own safety. Can you really claim to have given me the fame that I bloodied my hands for?" Her eyes harden and she murmurs, "As for what I hoped to accomplish, I should think it obvious. I have only ever wanted one thing: a world free of your tyranny."

At this, Snow bursts out a short laugh and turns to her fully, eyes wide and impassioned. "Tyranny? You're a citizen of District 1. You were born with more wealth than all the outer districts put together, and you stand here and claim that my rule has brought you nothing but oppression?"

He steps toward her and says in a clipped voice, "I have built this country up from the ashes of our forefathers who squabbled with each other until they destroyed it. It is by  _my rule_  that families like yours still exist. If it wasn't for the Capitol, District 1 would be a cesspool of poverty. No, Silver, it is  _you_  who has brought tyranny to Panem. You and your rebel friends who fight for a better world – ha! Tell me, who will rule this new world of yours? Will it be your dear President Coin? She would sooner ensure her unending dictatorship than allow your democratic dream to come true."

Sil scowls at him and haughtily begins, "President Coin is an honest woman who fights for our freedom – and the freedom of our children! She is  _good_  and moral – "

"Listen to you!" Snow exclaims, sweeping a hand out as if to pinpoint the exact part of her that he finds detestable. He tips his head back and laughs, but there is no humor behind it. There is resignation and disappointment, but no humor.

With a shake of his head, he catches her eye and tells her, "I am a politician, Silver, and make no mistake – I am far more equipped than most when it comes to recognizing a tyrannical mindset, as you so elegantly put." He smiles flatly and adds, "She will rise to power with your help, and she will waste no time in putting herself forward to the country. Panem is at odds with itself – everything and everyone is in disarray – the people will be all too eager to welcome her with open arms. She knows this. That's why she's been so vocal these past few weeks. She wants them to choose her, and they will. Like sheep to the slaughterhouse, they'll vote her in as the next President, and she'll get what she's always wanted. The question is, what will her price be?"

Sil only stares at him, face blank as she digests his words. As a Victor and the Nightingale, she has always had the peculiar position of living in two separate worlds. One, ruled entirely by President Snow – a hated place, full of hated deeds. The other, an idealistic moral road that, on the surface, seems so much better than the alternative. In a way, too idealistic.

Snow scoffs at her. "I used the Hunger Games to instill fear in my subjects. Fear, I have found, does wonders to keep rebellions at bay, at least for the majority of my presidency." He sends her a look and says, "That was my price. But hers…well, since you know her so much better than me, I suppose your guess is as good as mine, Silver."

She doesn't respond, not truly knowing what to say. To be fair, she's hardly thought that far into the future, as silly as it sounds. But in her line of work, it's more important to think in the short term. To get by one day at a time. To experience small victories. She has never considered in too much depth what type of ruler Coin would be. The goal had always been to merely ensure that Snow and his government was removed from power.

Snow sighs and turns to his desk, walking back over to it before taking a seat. He clasps his hands in front of him and glances at one of the Peacekeepers. "Bring Felix in," he orders, much to Sil's dismay. Her thoughts immediately turn in a new direction as reluctant fear burgeons in her chest.

Turning his gaze back to her as the Peacekeeper leaves the room, Snow muses, "Now, what to do with you. Your rebellion  _may_  succeed, but then again it may not. We are now at the turning point, it would seem. Regardless of the future, since you're in my custody, I think I'll leave you with a parting gift. Think of it as a small form of punishment for crossing me all these times – a paltry retribution, if you ask me, but unfortunately I don't have the flexibility to gather up enough soldiers to properly  _chastise_  you."

The office door suddenly opens and in steps Felix, who is outfitted in black armor. The emblem of the Capitol blazes across his breast plate, its red lines a taint upon the hull. He immediately glances at her, but his gaze is drawn quickly to his President as he straightens up and salutes him.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" he inquires. Snow smiles flatly at him.

"Yes. Felix, I wonder if you'd do me the service of escorting Silver down to our cells below the mansion. I think our little Nightingale could use a time-out."

Felix clears his throat and nods, turning to face the other Peacekeepers and gesturing for them to walk ahead of him with Sil. Before they leave, though, Snow calls out, "And Felix?"

He turns just as they are passing through the door, and Snow sends Sil a cruel smile.

"Break her."

Sil's face turns white, but Felix only pauses for a moment before nodding and pushing her forcefully from the room.

As the door closes behind them, Snow leans back in his chair and sighs, tapping his desk idly as the minutes pass by. Five minutes, ten, fifteen…at around the twenty minute mark, a dull sound catches his attention and he smiles widely.

It is the sound of Sil's screams tearing through the floorboards from the depths of the darkness, and it is his final symphony – or so he thinks, until the ricocheting sound of bombs dropping to earth brings an abrupt end to his laughter.

Snow shoots up from his desk and rushes to the window. He's seen so much blood and death that human life is no longer sacred to him, but even  _he_  is caught off guard at the gruesome sight of the explosion in the distance, just beyond the gates of his mansion.

If he remembers correctly, he had ordered that a group of field medics were to be sent there to help the injured and the children…

And, even though he is witnessing a massacre of the cruelest kind, Snow can't help the bitter chuckle from leaving his throat. So this is Coin's price. The deaths of anyone standing in her way, with no distinction between innocents and criminals. He has the blood of many children on his hands as well – multiple Games that forced their deaths and strove to keep civilians in line. But this…well.

Snow turns away from the horrifying sight and scans his office.

It seems that this good, moral woman that Silver so callously supports is a lot more similar to him than even the Sterling Nightingale realizes, and Silver Lamprey Cornelius knows Alma Coin a hell of a lot better than most.


	50. To the way my mismatched soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Sil receives help from an unlikely source, and she realizes that a lot of things have changed in a short amount of time.

 

**C** **hapter Fifty | To the way my mismatched soul**

" _Whilst she did not see him, there still lingered in her heart of hearts a vague, undefined hope that something would occur, something big, enormous, epoch-making, which would shift from her young, weak shoulders this terrible burden of responsibility." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

Compared to the average person, Silver Lamprey Cornelius has spent more than her fair amount of time locked away in a dark prison cell. She's not sure how long, exactly, she sits in the darkness of it, shivering from cold and the blunt pain of her injuries. It feels like a millennia all on its own, and every passing second brings about a wave of agony that nearly cripples her with despair.

Besides her physical injuries, of which admittedly take up the majority of her thoughts, she still has the strength to worry about other things, too. Literally and figuratively, she is in the dark regarding many things. She is unsure about whether the rebels have succeeded in taking over the Capitol, or if they were held back at the last moment. She is unsure about the status of her friends and family. She is unsure about whether Finnick is alive, or if her sacrifice had been for nothing.

The misapprehension surrounding his well being is, above all else, her main source of concern. But even that is driven to the back of her mind as she sits there with her back against the stone wall, trying to remain as still as possible.

Her body is on fire. It is a blistering fire, an unending one that scorches her to dust every time she shifts. The slightest movement makes her gasp. Her back is torn open from the lashes that Felix had bestowed upon her. He hadn't bothered moving her shirt out of the way to do it – a small comfort at the time, though not any longer. Her wounds have begun to scab over along the edges, and her shirt clings to them with vicelike tenacity. Every time she moves, the fabric pulls at her wounds and reopens them all over again.

Felix hadn't lingered very long in her cell beyond those first few hours. Something or someone had called him away. It had been a sudden, inexplicable thing. She'd expected that he would want to deal out his anger on her for lying to him about her identity these past seven years. When he had thrown her into the cell and brought out the whip, he'd been too happy to do just that. But when the sound of bombs going off in the distance had captured his attention, coherent even down here in these dark cells beneath the mansion, he'd thrown the whip to the side and had prowled out of the cell to investigate. He hadn't returned, and Sil had been half relieved and half worried about that.

She tries not to dwell too much on the agony, knowing that it could have been worse. Whatever made Felix leave, it had saved her from the full brutality of his anger. She tries to push the thoughts away and instead turns to the short reprieve of sleep to dull her internal pain. It does very little for the external, but even a few moments of sleep are better than the agony of wakefulness.

After a day or two, she wonders if she will ever be found, or if she will be left here to rot for the rest of eternity, starving and thirsty. She tries not to think about that, either. But the luck of the Sterling Nightingale, which has bolstered her through many impossible situations, yet holds. It comes to her in the form of the one person she least expects.

Gale Hawthorne had been entirely unimpressed by her, or so he had appeared when she had stumbled upon their squad days before. She can't fault him for it.  
Contrary to popular belief, Silver Lamprey Cornelius is neither arrogant nor haughty, though her alter ego often pretended to be both. Gale had looked upon her as if she was an anomaly. Her District 1 upbringing is as stark a difference to his own in every way possible. No doubt he wonders why someone as privileged as her would ever be interested in upsetting the very same status quo that had made her family wealthy in the first place.

No, she cannot fault him for his apathetic perspective of her, but his disregard hardly factors into her consideration when he appears outside her cell with a ring of keys.

"You look terrible," he greets, taken aback at the sight she makes. From his current vantage point, the woman looks unrecognizable. He's seen plenty of her on the television, dressed to the nines in Capitol fashion with naught but a hair out of place. But her flawless, expensive outfits are gone, now. In their place is a ragged and torn version of her, which looks nothing like he remembers.

Heaving in a breath, Sil chuckles at him. She watches him unlock the door. The unoiled hinges scream as they open.

"My, but you do know how to compliment a girl," she struggles to say, voice hoarse from disuse. She shivers against the wall as he approaches, now getting a better look at her with his proximity.

She doesn't quite expect the sheer amount of worry that takes hold of his expression. Though she's only been around him for a scant amount of time, she thinks it looks strange on his face.

"What the hell happened to you?" he murmurs, crouching down in front of her and quickly scanning her injuries. It doesn't take him very long. If nothing else, Gale Hawthorne is efficient.

Besides several scratches and bruises that are surely scattered over the majority of her body, his closer proximity to her now gives him a better look at her other wounds. He sees that her shirt is ripped open at the back, fabric splayed and shredded in some places. It's also drenched with blood. Having been through the very same thing, Gale knows what those marks mean. Someone has taken a whip to her back, but the cuts aren't very deep, and aren't very numerous either. Despite this, he knows that it still hurts. He has first hand experience with lashes.

"I suppose the better question is, what didn't they do?" she muses, and grits her teeth as Gale gestures for her to sit forward.

She really doesn't want to move, but she forces herself to obey despite her current disinclination to follow his orders. The moment she shifts even the slightest bit, pain erupts from her back and seems to splinter through the entirety of her. Head pounding, Sil crumples into his chest with a gasp. Gale's hands flutter over her shoulders for a brief moment, clearly unsure what he should do, before he settles them against her head and gives her an awkward pat.

She snorts at his floundering and warns, "You may have to carry me."

He looks down at her and wonders, for a moment, how this unassuming, petit woman could possibly be the very same mastermind that has helped press the revolution into existence. It baffles him a little, even after seeing her blend so flawlessly into her unexpected role.

"Hey, it's gonna be alright," he tells her, feeling her shake against him. He doesn't know if it's from the cold or the pain or something else that he cannot currently identify, but it doesn't really matter at this point. She needs medical attention. She's going to have to handle a bit more pain for now.

With a sigh, Sil just weakly tells him, "Get me out of here, darling. I'm so sick of this dreary place."

He sends her a tight smile and hooks an arm underneath her knees. Seconds later, she's being lifted into his arms, biting the inside of her mouth to hold back tears of pain. She doesn't fully succeed.

Gale moves as gently as he can, trying not to upset her injuries but trying to reach the upper recesses of the manor as quickly as possible. As they enter the main guard room, a few more rebel soldiers join them on their way up.

"…Gale," Sil breathes through the pain as they slowly ascend the stairs. "…Is Finnick alive?"

The man looks down at the woman in his arms, pausing briefly as he catches her eye. Her wide green gaze is full of wary innocence, as if she is uncertain whether she really wants to know the answer or not. The next question on her tongue is 'Did we win?', but she figures that Gale's presence here is answer enough concerning that matter.

After a long moment, he responds, "Last I checked, he's fine. Peeta and him are supposed to be arriving any day now."

The sigh of relief she heaves at his words cannot be disguised, nor can the pretense of it be misconstrued. Gale hadn't been convinced of the truth in her relationship with Finnick Odair until now. It is appallingly obvious that she loves the man – as if her abrupt confession of the depth of her feelings hadn't already been made known on the streets of the Capitol for them all to hear.

For some reason, he thinks she seems a little more  _normal_  now, for having fallen in love in the midst of this war. It's funny, the intricate power that love has – its ability to transform and reconstruct.

The remainder of their trip is silent, peppered only by the short conversations going on behind them by the rebel soldiers in their wake. The moment Gale carries her to the upper floors, though, the silence shatters like so many drops of rain upon a barren desert.

"Gale!" Katniss's voice exclaims. The Girl on Fire walks quickly up to the pair. Her looks rather worse for wear, though her tired appearance cannot be compared to the truly haggard sight of the woman in Gale's arms. Katniss pales at the sight of her and says, "Get her to the medical tents."

Sil doesn't really notice the others who are with Katniss. There are several unrecognizable faces. People she's never met; rebel soldiers walking around. She sees more of them as Gale brings her outside, but she is more focused on her relief to be out of that manor than her desire to catch sight of faces she knows.

There is a huge white tent that's been constructed on the grounds of the manor. Gale starts for it, his long stride making their journey fast and efficient. As they get closer, Sil sees men and women everywhere. Doctors and nurses from the Capitol as well as from outlying districts rush to and fro carrying basins of water, bandages, and all manners of medical equipment no doubt sourced from Capitol hospitals. There are plenty of others, too, who seem to be volunteering their services despite their own limited knowledge of medicine. Everyone is pitching in, and it's a good thing, too, for there seems to be quite a lot of patients.

As Gale approaches the tent, one of the doctors stops in his tracks and does a double take, staring at Sil. His gaze hones in on her back, which is clearly visible from the angle Gale is standing. A clinical, almost removed expression takes hold of the man as he says, "Bring her here. This way."

He leads them inside the tent and gestures to an empty bed. Gale very carefully lowers her down into a sitting position, though the movement is still not gentle enough to keep the pain from Sil's expression as her body get buffeted about.

The unnamed doctor calls for assistance from a few nearby nurses, who take one look at Sil before scurrying away to retrieve the necessary equipment they'll need to patch her up. As the doctor waits for them, another nurse approaches him with a tray and a syringe of what Sil assumes to be morphling.

"This will help with the pain," he tells her as he taps the syringe and nods at the nurse to prepare Sil's arm. As she disinfects the skin, Gale lingers at Sil's bedside looking distinctly uncomfortable.

"You don't have to stay," Sil tells him, closing her eyes so that she doesn't have to watch the needle enter her arm. But to her surprise, Gale doesn't move.

The doctor administers the morphling quickly. Sil barely feels the prick of the needle amidst the pain her other injuries cause. She turns to give Gale a confused look, to which he shrugs.

"I've got nothing better to do," he mutters, taking a seat in an unoccupied chair near the bed. "Might as well stick around for a bit."

Sil is surprised by this, but instead of questioning him, she merely smirks, "Well, with such a pretty face to look at, I'll be healed up in no time at all."

Gale just rolls his eyes at her. "I'd rather not get in the middle of your weird relationship with Odair, thank you. If you're gonna flirt, I'm leaving."

She laughs, feeling so much better now that the morphling is dulling her pain, and winks at him. He doesn't leave, though, despite his threat, and just crosses his arms with a sigh as he watches the nurses return with water and bandages. He's beginning to see why she gets along so well with Finnick in the first place. The both of them seem to joke about everything.

With the morphling in her system, the pain that comes from moving is not nearly as awful as it had been before. She turns and lays down on her stomach so the doctor can tend to her back. The morphling does wonders, really. She barely feels him cut the fabric of her shirt and gently remove pieces of it from her wounds.

Breathing deeply around the dull pain the even the morphling cannot fix, she buries her face into the pillow. Her one comfort is the man at her bedside, the familiar face that watches over her. It's shocking in itself, having Gale Hawthorne stick around her for. She knows he's only here because he has no other orders at the moment, but she's glad not to be alone.

It's takes about an hour and another shot of morphling to clean and bandage the deep lashes deposited all over her back. By the time they are finished and have tended to a few of her other scratches, Sil can finally breathe.

"With proper medical equipment, we can get you healed up in a matter of days," the doctor tells her as he makes sure the bandages will stay in place. "But until we can move into the hospitals, this is all we can do for now. This ointment will help heal the brunt of the wounds. I'm going to give you some medication for the pain. It won't be as effective as the morphling, but it should help. Take two every four hours."

Sil swallows and nods. The doctor hands Gale a bottle of pills before turning to help her sit up.

She moves carefully to the edge of the bed and glances at the doctor. "Thank you."

He just nods and stands up. "Come back tomorrow morning so we can check how everything's healing."

As he disappears, Sil sighs and turns to look at Gale, who lifts his head and raises an eyebrow.

"Well," he says, and trails off. She sighs too.

"I…appreciate you staying with me. Maybe you could escort me back to the manor now," she suggests, trying to swing her legs over the edge of the mattress. Gale hesitates for a moment, caught wondering if she shouldn't just stay here for a bit longer, until he decides that it's probably best to bring her back. She is the Sterling Nightingale, after all. Coin will probably want to talk to her as soon as possible.

So he escorts her back to the large mansion, keeping close in case she stumbles. It's slow progress.

As they make their way up the path, Gale glances over at her and muses, "You know, you don't really look like rebel."

His words make Sil laugh. It is a light, musical sound.

"That, my love, is precisely the point," she responds, and winks at him.

He just snorts at her.

He's beginning to realize that, despite her outward appearance, Silver Lamprey Cornelius has an even more rebellious heart than the rest of them put together.

* * *

Here in this lavish manor full of expensive furnishings, Alma Coin, President of District 13, is out of her element. Her discomfort is painfully obvious, though hardly out of place among her soldiers, who seem to be equally as discomfited by the sheer luxury that perforates this place. As for the rest of the occupying force currently in the manor, the opulence of the estate is hardly even noticed.

Plutarch has lived in the Capitol for the majority of his life, as is used to the almost gaudy décor. And Katniss, though her house in the Victor's Village is a far cry from this courtly elegance, has spent enough time in Panem's major city to at the very least not be taken aback by the furnishings. As for Sil, well…

"Dear me," she drawls as she takes in the state of President Snow's recently vacated office, "this place could use an update. Look how dreary this color palette is! Why, it's positively old-fashioned!"

She looks around the room as if she expects the outdated furnishings will jump out at her. With a dignified expression on her face, she looks like the blue-blooded citizen that she is, current bedraggled appearance notwithstanding.

She sends Plutarch a look and adds, "We really ought to hire an interior decorator once everything is wrapped up. I know several who would do a splendid job."

By the door, Katniss rolls her eyes and grumbles, "You can stop pretending, Sil. We all know who you are."

The remark has the District 1 Victor spinning around to face her with a theatrical air of aristocratic horror. "Katniss, darling, I am not pretending. I would never allow such," she waves her hand idly, " _injustice_  to continue into our new society. You should come see my estate in District 1 sometime – then you'll know  _true_  elegance."

As expected, Katniss doesn't look all that eager to take Sil up on her offer. Sil doesn't seem to notice, though. She's far too busy studying the embroidered cushions on the couch with a distasteful expression, scrunching her nose at the design.

Plutarch clears his throat and looks over at Coin, who is watching her Sterling Nightingale with a raised eyebrow. This goes on for several more seconds, until Sil realizes that she's being stared at by the majority of the room.

With a flippant brow, she drawls, "Gracious, but you're all acting far too serious after such a victory."

Plutarch chuckles and agrees, "You're right, but we still have much to do. First of all, how are you holding up?"

This time, it's Sil's turn to be a little serious. She glances at him and shrugs. "I'll be okay. With the medication the doctor gave me, he said my back should be healed up in a few days, though it'll be uncomfortable until the hospitals get reopened."

Coin hums at this and says, "Reopening the major buildings in the Capitol is on the top of our check-list, though it will take a few weeks before we can even start the rebuilding. Our primary focus for now is a smooth transition of power."

She looks at Sil and tells her, "I want you to get in contact with your agents. Be on top of any potential coups during the next few months. We're expecting pushback in Districts 1 and 2."

Sil nods. "Yes, there are quite a few loyalists to keep tabs on. I'll contact Dorsey soon and get right on it. Anything else?"

From the other side of the room, Plutarch glances at Sil and Katniss and says, "The remaining Victors should be arriving in the next few days. We'll be announcing Snow's execution once they get here."

President Snow has been in lockdown in the rose gardens on the southern grounds of the manor since the rebels arrived at the estate. He hasn't tried to break out. In fact, he's been quietly minding his own business since he was placed there under quarantine. He doesn't seem very concerned about his welfare, but Sil is sure he's angry at the turn of events. He surely wasn't expecting the Capitol to be so overrun.

The thought of him in that flowery prison has Sil slowly asking, "…Is Felix with him?"

Felix. Once she's healed, she'll wring his neck. She is not typically the type of person who gets overcome by thoughts of revenge, but she will make an exception in this case. It's only fair.

But to her consternation, Coin spears her with a glance and carefully responds, "Unfortunately, we haven't been able to track him down. We suspect he abandoned his post right before we surrounded the manor."

The news is galling and a little frightening to her. "So we don't know where he is?" she questions harshly, and at once, her lighthearted expression drops away into something fierce and aggrieved. Coin doesn't appear to be very surprised at the change of demeanor. Though she's used to communicating with the Nightingale via coded messages and, in rare cases, encrypted phone calls, she of all people knows who Silver Lamprey Cornelius really is. The woman is not quite as frivolous as she likes to pretend to be, even now.

Straightening up, Coin promises staunchly, "We will find him, Cornelius. Once we can spare the manpower, we'll hunt him down."

Sil understands this, of course. They need every last soldier to ensure that the push back in the Capitol is contained, so that a new government can be constituted. She doesn't like hearing it, though. By the time they can spare the resources and the men, Felix will be long gone. Needless to say, it isn't a thought she likes very much. Still, she sighs and nods begrudgingly, knowing that there is little to be done about it until the revolutionaries have more control over the frenzied Capitol.

"Very well," Sil responds. Suddenly she feels exhausted at the thought of the work that still needs to be done. Instating an entirely new government will not be as simple as taking over the previous one, and that wasn't exactly a walk in the park either. On top of the political transition and the ordination of new laws and a new system of governance, there's still the matter of the expected pushbacks from loyalists. If Coin is indeed entrusting the task of monitoring them to Sil, then she will have to round up her agents as soon as possible.

With this in mind, she looks over at Coin and says, "I have messages to send. If there's nothing else, I'll be in my room." Then, pausing, she raises an eyebrow and questions, "I  _do_  have a room, don't I?"

Plutarch laughs. "You have your pick of them," he reassures. "The Eastern wing is empty."

Sil nods, pleased with the prospect, and begins to walk away. As she passes Katniss, she pauses and quietly murmurs, "It  _is_  good to see you, Katniss. I'm glad you're alright, and I'm sorry about your sister. She was…too young."

The mention of her sister's recent demise brings tears to Katniss's eyes, though the Girl on Fire pushes them back forcefully. Her expression hardly changes from its emotionless mask, but Sil is quite good at seeing through such things. She looks at her for a long moment before placing a hand on Katniss's shoulder and squeezing.

Katniss doesn't respond, and Sil doesn't expect her to. Death is hard. It steals your voice when you most need it.

Unoffended by Katniss's silence, Sil steps out of the office and begins to make her way to the East wing. She's only been inside the manor several times in the past, and had never ventured onto the second floor. Snow's official office where he has met with her before is actually on the first floor, and she feels at once strange and uncomfortable as she walks up the elaborate staircase that brings her to the next level.

Rich paintings line the walls of the hallway she enters. Faces of historical people in Panem's history, and even a few from the Pre-War Era, stare at her as she passes as if they are questioning her presence among them. Sil is quite used to wealth, but her own manor is very different from this one. Where she prefers to exhibit her family's privileged status in a light, airy manner, this place is heavy and traditional. Her manor is a bright, cheerful place that has become her refuge. Though it is opulent in its own way, the Cornelius style is far more forgiving to the whims of human nature. It embraces the innate flow of time and nature, integrating the two together seamlessly. And, though her wealth is displayed, it is not nearly as gaudy. To have such a blaring reference to the Capitol in her own home would never sit well with her.

Luckily, her father gives her free reign over the décor.

The thought makes her sigh. Her father. What must he think? Is he worried? She knows she should call him, but she's only just arrived in the upper levels of the manor. She has so much to do still. They won the war, but it is not over yet.

She peers into several rooms as she ducks down the hall, until she finds one that faces the rose gardens. It is a calculated move, though an unnecessary one. Snow will not escape, and even if he does, the rebels have gained enough power here to recapture him easily. But she likes to know that he's there, across the grounds, in that domed greenhouse. Perhaps most Victors would choose a different view, but…

Well, she is not like most Victors, and she will soon realize just how large of a contrast there truly is between her, and them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn't resist Gale's gorgeous face ;)


	51. Fits against yours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Sil begins to realize that even though the war is won, there are several more battles yet to be fought.
> 
> Thanks for the reviews and I hope you all enjoy. This is an important chapter, as it sets the stage for the next arc.

 

**Chapter Fifty One | Fits against yours**

" _Yet there was something in his attitude, something in those pale, foxy eyes, which seemed to freeze the blood in her veins, as would the sight of some deadly hitherto unguessed peril." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

The next morning, Sil is up before dawn. It isn't entirely by choice. The morphling has completely worn off now, and the medication that the doctor had given her is not strong enough to dull the pain altogether. On top of that, sleeping on her stomach is extremely uncomfortable. She's had a very restless sleep speckled with unpleasant dreams that haven't helped.

With a sigh, she rolls out of bed and clumsily pops two of the pills that the doctor had given her yesterday. She will have to go back to get her wounds checked today. Whatever ointment the doctor had used on her seems to have helped considerably though. Before, even the slightest movement had been agonizing. Now, as she stands up and carefully moves across her room, the pain is more of a dull ache and the wounds, when she looks, have scabbed over already. It is perhaps the one good thing about the Capitol, these medical advancements.

She goes to the window and pulls the curtains open. The sun is barely peeking over the far horizon, casting the sky with a soft grey light as the world awakens. She considers sitting in one of the chairs to watch its slow arch, but she gets bored after only a few minutes of idling around.

Oh, Sil enjoys luxurious days spent lazing around just as much as the next person, but she isn't in the mood for that right now. Not in President Snow's manor and not while she is injured. And besides, she has far too much work to do to waste her time. So after staring at the window for several lengthy, awful minutes, Sil rolls her eyes and turns to get dressed.

Having no other clothes besides the bloody rags she'd arrived in yesterday, Sil carefully wriggles into a long robe that the nurse had brought last night. It's a bit painful to move, but she manages after a brief struggle. Once she is dressed a bit more conservatively, she wastes very little time in grabbing her PAAD underneath her arm and walking into the hall in just her nightshirt and robe.

Well it's not as if the entirety of Panem hasn't seen her in less. She does get quite a few looks from rebel soldiers patrolling the halls, though.

One even stops and asks her if she needs any assistance, to which she pauses, tilts her head, and suggests, "I would love some coffee, darling, if you're heading in the direction of the kitchen. One spoon of sugar and a dash of cream. And maybe some croissants!"

The soldier nods quickly, eyeing her in a way that should probably make her feel awkward for being so underdressed, except that she is far more concerned with getting her coffee and starting her work to truly care.

She strides away before the soldier can verbally respond, calling over her shoulder, "I'll be down on the veranda, my love. Do hurry."

She does indeed venture to the veranda, which is on the bottom floor and boasts several comfortable looking chairs. She takes a seat in one, carefully easing back so as not to upset her wounds, and crosses her legs before propping the PAAD in her lap. Then, opening the screen, Sil frowns at the device and wonders how she should go about this, and who she should contact.

Luckily, a very familiar voice brings the answer to her problems.

"Silver?! What the hell are you doing?" Mr. Dorsey's voice suddenly questions, and Sil is so surprised to hear the cadence of it that she turns quickly, her PAAD sliding off her lap in the process.

Dorsey has quick reflexes though. He's close enough to snatch it before it hits the ground, and goes to hand it to her with a disbelieving look on his face, like he can't believe she'd be so clumsy. That's about the time when he notices the bandages peeking out from beneath her nightshirt, and he curses almost theatrically.

"Well fuck," he mutters after a moment, "I leave you alone for a few days and you go and hurt yourself. What happened?"

Determined not to be overly morose about her current situation, Sil forces a smile onto her face and says, "Oh, nothing really, just Felix with a vendetta. Not exactly unusual." She mutters the last part somewhat beneath her breath, though Dorsey hears it. He grunts in agreement and goes to pull a chair beside hers.

As he drags it over the cement of the veranda, he nods at her, "Dunno why you're up at this ungodly hour, but we might as well catch up a bit."

Sil agrees, but before she can verbally respond, Dorsey adds, "Also, you  _do know_  that you're in scantily clad pajamas, don't you?"

At this, Sil can't stop the laugh the bubbles into existence. It's the first time in ages since she's actually laughed genuinely, and once she starts, she finds that it is rather difficult to stop. Dorsey just watches her with a humorous expression, evidently deciding that it isn't worth interrupting with his usually dour commentary.

"Gracious," Sil chuckles, "Why, I hadn't even realized." The sarcasm in her voice makes him roll his eyes.

"Just want to make sure you're okay with that racy show of leg you're giving me. Not that I'm complaining," he shrugs, and sends her a playfully leering grin that she doesn't take seriously.

"Careful, Dorsey," she threatens, "I might not be in full health, but I can still beat you up."

He chuckles, "I've no doubt, Cornelius. Now, how about you tell me what the hell happened to you? I heard all about your little 'sacrificial lamb' stunt. Odair had quite a bit to say about  _that."_

Mention of Finnick makes Sil immediately pause, arranging her features into what she hopes is calm nonchalance. She clears her throat and idly asks, "Ah. And what did he say, pray tell?"

Dorsey snickers at her ruse, which he sees right through, and smirks, "Only that you're the stupidest woman alive. Or something along those lines."

The explanation makes Sil shift uneasily in her chair, though she isn't all that surprised. She could just imagine Finnick saying that, with no shortage of exasperation. It still makes her a bit hesitant though.

"…And he's here? At the manor? When did you arrive?" she asks, firing question after question as she stares over at Dorsey expectantly. He's quite used to her mannerisms by now, though, and he just shrugs.

"No. I went on ahead of them. They're being escorted here by some of Coin's men. Should be here soon, I'm sure," he muses, eyeing her with a slight smirk that she definitely notices.

Rolling her eyes at his expression, Sil tries and fails to appear as apathetic as possible to the news. When she glances casually over at Dorsey and sees the shit eating grin he's wearing, though, she rolls her eyes and drops the act.

"You don't have to look so amused," she grumbles to herself, propping her leg up on the table in front of her. Dorsey laughs.

"Can't help it," he admits, not sounding very apologetic. "I've just never seen you so at a loss before. That boy spins you for a loop. It's funny."

She's about to reprimand him for his questionable humor regarding her love life, or lack thereof, when the soldier she had rather insolently ordered coffee from reappears with a steaming mug, complete with a plate of pastries.

"Here you are, Miss Cornelius," he says eagerly, eyes lingering a little too long on her bared leg. At his appearance, Sil turns around and smiles brightly at him.

"Thank you, darling," she purrs, and send him a wink that makes his entire face explode in deep red. Dorsey watches the scene with a raised eyebrow but doesn't comment.

"Do you need anything else?" the soldier wonders as he sets the mug down on the table beside her.

Sil merely shrugs and dismisses him with a, "Not at the moment…" she trails off and looks at him expectantly, and he nearly trips over his feet to give her his name.

"Cassius, ma'am."

Humming in amusement, Sil murmurs, "Thank you, Cassius. You're such a darling for helping me."

The boy blushes again and backs away, ducking his head as he disappears through the doors. Sil smirks at the sight, and Dorsey rolls his eyes at her.

"Don't let Finnick see you flirting your way through the soldiers," he warns her as he leans back with a stretch. Then, scoffing, he mutters, "Sending a rebel soldier to get you coffee…you're being very brazen this morning."

She simpers at him as she leans forward, lifting the mug to her lips. As she takes a sip, she tells him, "They're just so easy to corrupt, Dorsey, I can't help it! And besides, Finnick is even worse than I am.  _He's_  the Capitol Flirt, not me."

With a shrug, Dorsey responds, "That may be so, but I could see him as the overprotective, annoyingly possessive type."

Sil can't help but smile slightly at the thought, eyes shining as she imagines Finnick being that way towards her. What a notion!

As she awkwardly leans over the edge of the chair to reach for a pastry, Dorsey unlocks her PAAD and prompts, "So after you heroically sacrificed yourself so your true love could live another day, Felix managed to give you hell and now you're here? Am I missing anything?"

She raises her eyes to him, the mug still against her lips, and shrugs. "You've pretty much covered it."

He looks doubtful. "Really? I can't imagine that Felix would make it that easy. He didn't do anything else, did he?"

She pauses, but truthfully says, "No. I was expecting him to return, but…he disappeared. I think he knew that staying at the manor would be a death sentence. Coin tells me he wasn't here when the soldiers took the place over."

This makes Dorsey sneer out an angry, "That coward. I'll bet he also knows that there's a line of people waiting to beat him up, now that he's not under Snow's protection. Wait till I get my hands around his scrawny little neck."

Sil purses her lips, fighting down a smile. He notices, of course. Dorsey is extremely perceptive – a rather important attribute, in their line of work. When he gives her a questioning look, she just snickers, "Never mind Finnick.  _You're_  being plenty overprotective right now."

He doesn't seem to mind her words, because he just grunts. She smiles wider and tries to reach for the pastry again, without having to move too much and upset her injuries. The ridiculous sight she makes as she tries to reach the plate has Dorsey sighing out and lifting it for her. He holds it steady in front of her face and Sil beams at him. As she takes one, he says, "Guess I should update you on my end while we're exchanging stories."

She looks interested to hear his side of things, so he explains, "Well, I was minding my own business, you know, making sure all my wares were under lock and key in case some dumbass soldier tried to raid my stock – don't look at me like that, I have a business to run – and all the sudden, the Girl on Fire busts my damn door open. Walks in like she owns the place. I don't think she was very impressed by our operation, I'm afraid – until I showed them true District 13 hospitality."

Sil scoffs in amusement and jokes, "I didn't know there was such a thing."

He promptly ignores her, opting to toss her a look as he theatrically continues, "They were naturally surprised by the scope of the shop. Clearly they weren't expecting to see our underground base. I patched your boy up and fed them. Showed 'em around. You know, a tour around all four corners. They liked your closet."

He smirks at her and Sil chuckles. "Mmhmm. And then…?"

"Then the Mockingjay and that Gale fellow borrowed some of your clothes and headed off toward the manor. Don't know what happened, exactly, but I'm assuming they got caught up in the explosions."

Sil pops the small pastry into her mouth and muses, "Yes, I think I heard a few soldiers talking about that." She looks out into the distance for a moment before turning back to Dorsey with a slightly different expression.

He knows that look well. It's the look of his leader. It's the reason he's pledged his loyalty to this unassuming young woman. Intelligence gleams through Sil's eye, with a heaving helping of determined fire.

"Sil?" he asks, prompting her.

She leans back in her chair. He puts the pastry plate down. Playtime, it seems, is over.

"Coin expects there will be small scale riots in Districts 1 and 2 over the next few months. She's asked me to keep an eye on them. I need to contact Tommy, and Marcus maybe – last time he checked in, he was in District 2 – and a few of the others."

Her explanation has Dorsey nodding slowly, rubbing his jaw as he mulls over her words. "I can compose the messages for you. Just tell me what to say."

He unlocks the PAAD, opens up an encrypted message, and waits. Sil remains silent for a moment before speaking her message aloud in a quiet voice. Dorsey jots it down on the screen and sends it out. He does this several more times to a few other agents before Sil is satisfied.

"Tommy's somewhere in the Capitol," he tells her once he hits 'send'. "He'll get back to us quickly."

Sil nods. She stares at Dorsey, who looks back at her and raises an eyebrow. Then, impatiently, Sil nods at the pastry plate and he rolls his eyes.

"I should just call that lovestruck soldier back here. I bet he'd love to wait on you hand and foot," he mutters, but doesn't complain too much as he lifts it once again for her.

Sil smirks at him.

"His name is  _Cassius_ , and I intend on making him my official barista during my stay. He makes an excellent cup of coffee," she informs him cheekily. He just sighs.

* * *

In an effort to keep herself busy, Sil throws herself into her work with gusto. Dorsey is a constant presence by her side over the next day. The League of the Sterling Nightingale have always acted as her eyes and ears, and that hasn't changed. For the time being, at least. Dorsey helps her write up messages, plan out which agents will go where, and strengthen the network of intelligence they've worked so hard to build.

Correspondence between the other agents comes in at odd but not unusual hours. Messages are sent only when it can be done without blowing the agent's cover. Early mornings and late evenings, at the most random hour of the day or night – Sil understands how the operation works. She's been in it for years now, after all, which is why she's not really that surprised when Dorsey rushes into the living room later that evening after supper.

Things have been moving rather slowly here at the manor. Sil has found herself spending quite a lot of time with Katniss and Gale during the daytime hours. Despite her initial meeting with Gale Hawthorne, they've warmed up to each other considerably, and there is even a feeling of respect that has sparked between them once they've gotten to know each other a bit more. The three of them have found themselves together much more often than Sil had expected. She finds the duo's presence comforting, in a way. Katniss's realistic and sometimes blunt approach to everything somehow puts her at ease. There are no pretenses in the way the Girl on Fire holds herself, and Gale matches the feeling completely. Sil enjoys their presence.

The three of them are gathered in the living room tonight. Katniss still appears to be a little unsure of Sil's character, but the girl didn't seem to mind her appearance when she had arrived an hour before. In truth, though Katniss used to dislike Sil's alter ego with an extremity that cannot be surpassed, this version of Sil is far better. She doesn't mind her nearly as much now that Sil has lost her high-pitched, exaggerated accent or the dozens of pet names she used to pepper her conversation with back when she was pretending to be the idiot everyone used to see her as.

The pair of them are sitting on the couch together while Gale throws darts on the other end of the room. His aim is spectacular, no doubt honed from years of hunting and his more recent training for the rebel army. Sil watches him curiously, hand under her chin as she props her elbow on the arm of the couch, but the moment Dorsey rushes into the room, her attention is placed firmly back on solid ground.

She locks eyes with him, sees the way he's looking at her, and immediately slips from the couch to go to his side. Dorsey drags her to the corner of the room and shows her the screen of the PAAD.

"This just came in from District 1," he says to her, holding up the brief message so she can read it.

The other occupants of the room glance over at the scene, watching the pair with keen interest. Interest that turns to worry the moment they see Sil's gaze turn to Dorsey's with frantic determination.

Sil demands, "What agents are near 1?"

Dorsey just tightens his mouth and responds, "Marcus is in 2 and Zephyr's in 8. The others are in the outlying districts."

Furious, Sil turns to him with dark eyes and mutters, "I ordered half of them to 1 and 2 days ago. They should have informed me they were held up."

Dorsey shakes his head and flicks through the PAAD, murmuring, "These also just came in."

Sil scans them and rolls her eyes. The messages inform her that the agents she's asked to be in 1 and 2 have been predisposed for now in the other districts. Their reasons are acceptable, but all Sil can think about is the fact that there are riots in District 1 and her father is likely a prime target.

Riots. She can imagine them now, those loyal citizens of her home district, revolting against the idea of the rebels occupying the Capitol and changing their entire way of life. And it will be changed – everything will be changed. The life of luxury that her kinsmen have experienced since the onset of the Hunger Games will be disrupted, and their special status as the Capitol's favored district will come crashing down. And her father is right in the center of it.

He will surely be a prime target because of his connection to her. Now that the identity of the Sterling Nightingale is widely known across Panem, her father is in grave danger. She's been so swept up in the proceedings here at the manor that she hadn't given much thought to her own personal claim in this war. It's been about the bigger picture for as long as she can remember. Her father's been safely tucked away at the Cornelius estate all this time – but no more. The entirety of District 1 will turn on him the moment they remember he is there. They might have already done so.

Standing stiffly in front of Dorsey, Sil blankets her fear with a mask. She cannot allow her worries to fuel her plans. She must consider this new dilemma carefully.

"Is there any proof of riots, or is it propaganda?" is the first thing she asks after gathering herself.

Dorsey looks at her for a long moment before turning to the PAAD and pulling up a clip that looks like it's been taken by a civilian's camera. He pulls it up, dragging the scene into the air above the PAAD so that Sil, and everyone else in the room, can see it clearly play out.

District 1 is a pandemonium. She watches blankly as the puffed up citizens she knows so well riot

in the streets, overturning stalls in the market district and shouting obscenities about Coin and the rebel army. It is a terrible sight to witness, but worse still is the way the rioters enter the Victor's Village, whose elite houses tower up in the square like Capitol monuments. But the people aren't there to destroy Capitol property – they're there to put an end to the rebel sympathizers: the Victors themselves.

She doesn't need to watch anymore. It's a well known fact in District 1 that Silver Lamprey Cornelius doesn't actually live in the house she'd received after her Games. Her estate sprawls out at the edge of the city. It is a landmark in its own right, with its imposing architecture and long, private driveway that separates it from the squalor of District 1's busy city life.

Sil and Dorsey stare each other down for a few heavy moments as her mind whips around with half formed plans. Plans that are interrupted when Gale's voice cuts in to demand, "What the hell is going on?"

Sil turns to spear him with a dark look that is entirely foreign on her face. Katniss and Gale stare at her in surprise. They are all so used to her inane smiles and lazy expressions that the sight of her now is a stark contrast from her old self.

Katniss sits up warily and slowly asks, "…Sil? Was that District 1?"

The Girl on Fire remembers the district vaguely from her Victory Tour the year before. She hadn't gotten a very good look at the city, but she recognizes the luxurious atmosphere and remembers being taken aback and mildly disgusted at the similarities it shares with the Capitol.

Sil doesn't respond. She just stares at Katniss with that dark look and then whirls back around to Dorsey. No longer bothering to talk quietly, she says stiffly, "Get Tommy on the phone. And call in the other agents. I don't  _care_  if they blow their cover – they need to be in 1 as soon as possible."

With that, she takes her leave, but before she can exit the room, Dorsey calls, "And what are  _you_  going to do?" The sarcastic tone of his voice makes her smile tightly at him.

"I'm going to speak with Coin," she says airily. Dorsey doesn't try to stop her again as she leaves.

He just grumbles as he opens a secure connection and starts sending off messages to the agents, slowly walking to the door as he does. Like Sil, though, he doesn't get far before the others jump in to stop him.

"What was that?" Gale asks, just as Katniss questions, "Is Sil in trouble?"

The inquiry has Dorsey glancing at them, and the look on his face could almost be likened to concern.

He impatiently mutters, " _She's_  not in trouble. Her family estate is though. District 1 is one huge fucking mob right now. Apparently they don't like the change of leadership."

He mutters something that sounds like 'loyalist scum' as Gale mutters, "Not really that surprising. District 1 has been living in the lap of luxury for years now. Without the Capitol's support, they're in for one hell of a change."

Katniss, though, merely scoffs and sarcastically asks, "So what? Sil's worried about her house being vandalized? That's not exactly our biggest concern right now."

Dorsey shoots the girl an aggravated look and opens his mouth to defend Sil. "She's not worried about her house, Katniss. She's worried about her father. If he's not already a target of these riots, he's about to be."

For her part, Katniss looks a bit chagrined at having jumped to conclusions, and doesn't try to argue.

"…I didn't even know she had family," the Girl on Fire mutters almost to herself, though the entire room hears.

Dorsey, who is still typing up messages, pauses and says, "Gemma Cornelius is her father. I'm surprised you haven't heard of him. He's famous in the Capitol for his high-end jewelry. Both him and Silver are jewelers, actually. How'd you think this war was funded?"

The news seems to come as a shock to both Katniss and Gale. With raised eyebrows, Gale asks, "Really? So Sil funded the rebellion with her family's money? That's gotta be an impressive donation."

His words just make Dorsey snort. The older man peers down at Gale and says, "The Cornelius estate is probably one of the wealthiest places outside the Capitol, kid. To Sil, that was pocket money."

In truth, no one's ever really thought about Sil's background. Well, no one besides Finnick, who has seen her estate first hand. Dorsey's words wouldn't be so surprising if they had seen Sil's house. The Cornelius manor is an almost surreal place. Though Dorsey has only been there a few scant times, and only under the cover of night, he's never seen its comparison even here in the Capitol – and he's seen his share of rich, swanky places around these parts.

The room falls into silence at his explanation. After a few seconds of this, Dorsey looks up from the PAAD he's been furiously typing away at and says, "I should go track her down before she challenges Coin to a duel or something. Crazy woman."

As he leaves, a sullen silence falls upon the pair, who look at each other quietly. This sudden turn of events has made the both of them, in some capacity or another, realize one important thing: that they really don't know the Victors as well as they thought they did – especially Silver Lamprey Cornelius, the ever elusive Sterling Nightingale.

* * *

Coin isn't happy when Silver barges into her office with demands. Not happy at all.

It isn't enough that she's completely bogged down with heavy to-do lists concerning all manners of things that range from politics to executions. Now Sil wants to split the rebel army to send soldiers to District 1? Her answer is swift and immediate.

"No," she says, and turns back to the report she's reading.

Sil isn't surprised by the refusal, but she's also not going to let it go so easily.

"I need only a few men," she says, and adds, "My agents are too far away to make it there in time. It would be a covert mission – in and out under the cover of night – that's it."

Coin sighs and puts the report onto her desk. She spears Sil a heavy look and calmly responds, "You are our Nightingale. What makes you think I'll allow you to go into enemy territory in your current state? It would be far too dangerous."

The reminder of her injuries makes Sil sigh, too.

Coin reaches for a pen and, as she signs her name to the report, tells Sil, "We're working on reopening the hospitals as soon as possible. You'll have the best medical care in Panem soon enough. Just wait until then."

The words make Sil feel like she's bursting with impatience. Angrily, she stares Coin down and insists, "I cannot wait! My father is in the center of those riots. They will cut him down where he stands if I don't bring him here."

Her aggravated tone makes Coin look up at her with a stern, tight expression. Sil backs off a little, knowing that she's walking a fine line. Not that it helps much.

"You won't do anyone any good until you are healed," Coin tells her. "And I can't spare the men to make a trip into District 1. We're already struggling to keep our hold on the Capitol as it is."

Trying to calm down, Sil slowly says, "I already feel much better from the medication the nurses have been putting on my wounds. If I had to, I'd be able to get the job done just fine. And besides, you need people stationed in District 1. It has the largest population of loyalists in Panem and we need soldiers there."

Coin looks at her carefully, musing over her words. "…I understand, Cornelius, but we have to ensure that the Capitol is under our full control before we split our army. Making such a rash move right now could spell disaster to our cause."

Sil doesn't want to hear this. She wants action. She wants to get something done. She's not used to sitting back and letting other people take the reins – she's much more accustomed to manipulating events in her favor. It's what she's been doing for the past seven years, after all.

But she also knows that Coin isn't going to budge. She can tell just from looking at the stern expression that colors the woman's eyes that she isn't about to break her army for Sil's benefit. Sil understands Coin's perspective. From a tactical standpoint, she even agrees with her. But she can't shake the worry that invades her every time she thinks of her father in the middle of those riots. He doesn't deserve to become the target of her own legacy.

Perhaps, Sil thinks, she doesn't need Coin to assist her. She is quite used to going under cover and smuggling herself through security checks and across district borders. Maybe, if she can come up with an adequate plan by tonight, she can go save her father herself.

With this thought churning in her mind, Sil slowly murmurs, "…Very well. But I'm still going to send my agents to 1 and 2 the moment they're able to leave their posts."

Coin looks up at the stubborn tilt of Sil's expression and her mouth edges up just slightly. "I expected as much," she says calmly.

Sil lingers for half a second before sighing and making to leave, but Coin abruptly calls her back with a well placed, "Silver…I'd like you to be in full armor for Snow's execution. We've taken the liberty of having an outfit made for you. It's being brought to your room."

The sudden topic change seems so out of place that Sil pauses and turns back, unsure how to respond. After a long moment of hesitation, Sil wonders, "Have you set a date for the execution?"

Coin leans back and tells her, "The day after tomorrow. In the mean time, the other Victors will be arriving soon, and I'll be calling them all together for a meeting. I need to have a word with them all."

The way she refers to the Victors as 'them', not including Sil in their ranks, doesn't go over her head. For some inexplicable reason, it makes Sil distinctly uncomfortable, as if there is something darker at work here than she is outwardly being shown. Sil is very attuned to her own intuition, and right now, it's blaring at her – though what it's trying to say remains vague.

She slowly responds, "And am I allowed to know what you'd like to speak with us about?" She purposefully makes sure to include herself this time. Despite pretending to be removed from the ranks of her fellow Victors for years now in order to complete her mission, Sil is very much one of them. She has the same nightmares they all do, and the same reservations, though she has a stronger mask, at times, which she uses to hide these similarities away.

Coin just blinks at her. Perhaps it is the lighting, but those silver eyes seem to gleam with a darkness that Sil is surprised to see there. And, sitting in Snow's very own chair, in this office which has seen truly unforgivable acts in its years serving as Snow's headquarters, Alma Coin suddenly appears to be a mirror copy of the man Sil so detests. Shivers rush through her at the spark of understanding, and she stares at Coin as if she's seeing a truth that has evaded even her.

Whether Coin notices Sil's sudden change in demeanor or not, no recognition passes through her gaze. Instead, she just lifts her shoulders in a calm and almost nonchalant manner and tells the spy, "I am not blind to the help the Victors have given us these past few months. I intend on inviting them to give their opinions regarding certain policies that I am considering enacting. You'll hear more about it at the meeting. For now," she says, "focus on your healing."

Sil is at a loss, now, for the first time in ages. Something sinister plays beneath Coin's words – an unmarked, untold threat that makes something within Sil recoil. She cannot place what it is but she knows without a doubt of its presence, and like any good spy, she intends on getting to the bottom of it before it is too late.

So, painting on a smile that outwardly shows no sign of wariness or hesitation, Sil nods and trills out, "I think I shall do just that. I will keep you informed on my agent's positions in the meantime."

Coin nods agreeably, and Sil turns to take a quick leave. But as she whirls from the room in a sudden spell of dizzying earnest, she realizes that her last words were a lie. She will not keep Coin updated, for she feels an unexplainable but very familiar hunger driving forth from the woman she thought she had known. It is a hunger that she has seen many times in her life back in District 1, and many more times here in the Capitol.

Greed and avarice breed a startlingly potent craving for power, and with power there is sure to be corruption. The only question on Sil's mind now is what  _type_  of corruption – and what purpose will it serve?


	52. To the undercurrent of your smile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Finnick arrives on the scene, with some choice words for the woman he happens to be in love with.
> 
> Thanks for all the reviews! I hope you all enjoy this update :)

 

**Chapter Fifty Two | To the undercurrent of your smile**

" _Her heart seemed all at once to be in complete peace, and, though it still ached with undefined longing, a vague and delicious hope soothed it as with a balm." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

To anyone who did not know Silver Lamprey Cornelius – which is the majority of Panem – she appears to have an almost lazy, unhurried presence as she leans against the wooden railing of the second floor outlook. Her hands lay upon the polished wood idly, and there is a bored countenance to her face as she scans the rose gardens by the perimeter of the grounds. But, to the trained eye, she is tense and not so lazy after all. Her shoulders are set just so, and her chin is stubbornly lifted as her eyes peer down with subtle calculation, thoughts whirling and reeling with both possibilities and uncertainties.

When her PAAD lets off a gentle beep, she raises it to her face immediately, with a thirst that speaks very little of the boredom she outwardly maintains. And, upon seeing Tommy's name flash across the screen, Sil devours the communication with all the eagerness of a riled, wary animal.

"Where are you?" she asks upon opening the line of communication between them. She doesn't pause to share pleasantries. Her mind is far too tempestuous to bother with doling out such remarks.

Tommy's voice crackles into existence with a,  _"I've just arrived at Dorsey's shop. Is something wrong?"_

Normally she might humor him with a simpered response dredged up from the recesses of her alter ego – the sort of inane flowery speech that she has spent seven years spewing left and right for the benefit of her own secrets – but today, she merely replies, "I believe there might be something very wrong. When is the soonest you can arrive at the manor?"

The question makes Tommy pause, no doubt surprised at the serious tone in which she murmurs the words. She can almost hear his worried frown.

" _Give me a few hours,"_ he tells her, knowing it won't be easy to make the trip. Through Dorsey's shop is not so very far from the manor, there's the issue of getting through the rebel soldiers who guard the grounds with undying determination. He'll have to prove to them that he is a part of their cause, which may take some convincing.

Sil expects this, naturally, and says, "Come as soon as you can. And bring some supplies with you."

The sudden request has Tommy immediately asking,  _"Supplies? What for?"_

It is not such an odd question, really. They've won this great war that they have set out to do. There is little need for Sil to smuggle herself across borders or disguise herself from any wavering eyes. She expects this, too, but is unwilling to explain it to him in such an open place, where anyone could be listening in.

Instead, she just murmurs, "You'll know when you arrive. Bring the Factory uniform – and one for yourself. You'll be coming with me, if you're willing."

He is surely confused about this strange turn of events, and the reasons behind Sil wanting their borrowed uniforms worn by the Factory workers in District 1, but Tommy does not argue or ask further questions. He's accustomed to the way Sil operates, and he knows that he will understand everything once he reaches the manor.

" _Two Factory uniforms coming right up,"_ is all he returns with, and wonders,  _"Anything else?"_

Sil's mouth twists into a subtle smirk as she peers down at the rose gardens.

"Only one thing," she murmurs, eyes flashing. "…Make sure you come armed. You and I, Tommy – we're about to witness something we've never seen before. You're going to want to be prepared."

Her words are vague and elusively construed, but Tommy seems to innately understand, or at the very least he seems to understand the he won't get much more out of her for now.

She severs communication. Her PAAD abruptly returns to its usual screen, and she immediately types a few messages to her other agents, telling them to meet her in District 1 as soon as possible – no matter the consequences. She will need all the help she can get.

As she hits 'send' on the last message, a voice suddenly interrupts her, causing her to whirl around in surprise with her hand flying to her heart.

"What are you planning?" Gale Hawthorne asks, head tilted and eyes blazing with curiosity. He has been walking through the halls on his way to the makeshift cafeteria the rebels set up to feed the soldiers when he had seen her standing unassumingly by the railing. Despite his previous beliefs about her character, though, Gale is starting to realize that there is nothing truly unassuming about the woman – especially, and most chiefly, when she is going out of her way to  _look_  unassuming.

And she looks very much so now, with her hand resting on her heart and her eyes wide with calculated surprise – a look that Gale is sure she has created for his benefit. He gives her an unimpressed glower that makes her wrinkle her nose, equally as indifferent.

"Gracious, darling, why should I be planning anything?" she questions as if slightly offended at the mere prospect, PAAD hanging loosely from her fingers. Its presence is hardly discriminating – Sil goes everywhere with the thing, touting it about even before her alter ego had been made known across Panem. For all he knows, she could merely be reading news articles or taking one of those silly quizzes that the Capitolites are so fond of.

He doesn't look convinced though.

Sil  _humphs_  and rolls her eyes at him. "Can't a woman get a bit of fresh air around here without the entire place getting into an uproar?" she asks, and smirks and adds, "Though since you're so nice to look at, my love, I suppose I can forgive you for your  _absurd_  suspicions."

She watches as her sudden flirtation makes him appear distinctly uncomfortable. He shifts his weight to his other leg – his only physical move – but Sil can see the way his eyes flash with the slightest edge of embarrassment. The sight of Gale Hawthorne looking embarrassed has Sil bursting into laughter, green eyes shining as she leaning against the rail. Only, she doesn't quite remember, in that moment, how injured she still is, and the pain that comes from her laughter is a harsh reminder.

It creases over her face in such a way that couldn't possibly be faked, and Gale forgets her aggravating aptitude for embarrassing him as he steps forward.

"You okay?" he asks, reaching her side and touching her shoulder in a friendly but unnecessary gesture. Sil is already recovering, straightening up and clearing her throat with a tight smile.

She glances at him and when she next speaks, she shows him just how recovered she is. She smirks widely and murmurs, "Your concern is admirable, darling. I've always loved a tall, dark, and handsome man you know. I'm shocked that women don't fall over their feet the moment they see you."

She simpers at him and, to her great delight, sees the slightest hint of a blush begin to creep over his cheeks before he forces it down and glares at her in annoyance.

"Would you stop that?" he demands, and Sil just snickers.

"Stop what?"

"Stop flirting with me."

She raises an eyebrow and smirks,  _"Flirting?"_  Reaching up to pat his chest in an almost patronizing way, she simpers, "Gale my love, I'm afraid I'm more romantically inclined toward the blonde hair, blue eyed variety, but it's ever so darling of you to make the effort."

The look of frustrated disbelief Gale sends her makes her begin laughing again – until a very familiar voice joins the already crowded veranda with a smooth, "What a relief. For a moment there, I thought I might have some competition."

With a jolt of true surprise, Sil whirls around to see Finnick blasted Odair leaning casually against the threshold of the veranda, arms crossed as he stares at her. There's this amused light to his eyes that makes her feel lost, so unsure she is as to the real nature of their relationship and of his own feelings toward her. As a result, she hesitates, completely speechless. It is a rare sight – one that Finnick immediately comments on.

"I know I'm built like a God, but you don't need to stare, sugar," he drawls, giving her a smug grin that makes his eyes blaze with mischief and amusement. Sil, though, can do little else  _but_  stare. His presence is so unexpected and shocking that she just grips the railing tightly, trying to avoid not being thrown off balance. It's a bit too late for that, though.

Last time she'd seen him, he was pressed against a dead-end wall with a bloody leg and an expression full of pain. She had been leading them through the streets to Dorsey's shop, but they had run into a group of Peacekeepers. Before sacrificing herself so that they might escape, Sil had done something – said something – to Finnick that…well…

She's nervous. She's nervous to face him. Last time she'd seen him, she didn't linger to hear his response to her abrupt and startlingly bold confession. There hadn't been time, and to be honest, Sil hadn't been entirely sure she wanted to hear his response anyway. She's still not sure.

Her continued silence makes Finnick  _tsk_  and shake his head. He steps forward onto the veranda and, not looking away from Sil, he murmurs, "You've got it pretty bad, sugar. You were definitely more talkative last time I saw you." A boyish, playful smirk plays at the corner of his mouth at the subtle reminder of the last words Sil had said to him – and the way the reminder makes Sil's face explode with a blush.

Even dressed as he is now, in his black combat gear and bandaged leg, Finnick Odair looks just as mischievous as he's ever had. And still ridiculously good looking.

He steps closer, hand joining hers on the railing as he cages her in. She's still glued in place, stiff, blushing, hesitant – but the brush of his hand against hers drags her abruptly back to reality. She jerks her eyes straight into his, mind whirling with thoughts that are probably better left unspoken, at least for now, and carefully paints on one of her masks.

Eyes suddenly bored and lazy, face bereft of blushing red, Silver Lamprey Cornelius wrinkles her nose and him and simpers, "Finnick, darling, you really ought to give a girl some warning – "

To her surprise, he cuts her off with a smirking, "It's way more fun to take you off guard."

And take her off guard he does indeed, for the way his mouth crashes down on hers is shocking and more than a little frightful. Her heart at once tries to beat its way out of her chest. The moment Finnick's lips touch hers, Sil is a goner – for a grand total of ten glorious seconds in which she immediately melts against him. And just as the kiss is getting good, and Finnick is wrapping his arms around her and cupping her face and deepening their connection, Sil wakes up to reality.

This reality comes in several measures. The first is the dull pain that shakes up from her back when Finnick's hand lays flat upon her injuries. The second is Gale's disgusted grunt as he leaves the veranda as quickly as he'd arrived. But it is the third that truly brings Sil's desire to heel.

She's the Sterling Nightingale. She has many more things to accomplish before she takes off the mantle she has worn these last seven years. It would not be fair to Finnick, or to herself, to allow this to continue. She is such a fool for ever saying those words to him during their last meeting. She's a fool for letting this happen when it will never work. They live in separate districts. When the war ends, what happens? She cannot leave her father – she will not – and Finnick would never leave District 4. He would suffocate in the arid, sandy landscape of her home. They both belong somewhere else, and that will never change, no matter how much she yearns for things to be different. Perhaps she is thinking too far in advance, but Sil is nothing if not a realist.

She abruptly pulls herself from his kiss, tearing off the veranda before he even realizes what's happened. She doesn't run from him, per se, but neither does she make it easy for him. Her pace is fast and quick, despite the way the movement tears at her back.

She fully expects the way Finnick reaches out to her and grabs her arm – fully expects the way he pulls her around to face him – and is ready with an explanation that she immediately spews before he can get a word in edgewise.

"I thought we were being filmed!" she exclaims, referring of course to the way she had told him she loved him in the streets of the Capitol. It's a lie, a sad pathetic lie, but to her complete surprise…Finnick's eyes flicker with what almost looks like acceptance. Has he truly fallen for her cover up so easily?! She's almost offended!

"…You thought we were…you mean for the propaganda films?" he inquires. There's something flat in his voice. It isn't anger or even disappointment. It almost sounds like exhaustion.

He is tired of his feelings for her. He's tired of wanting her so badly and never getting to have her. He's tired of pretenses and lies to keep other people happy – he wants the truth, now, so that  _he_  can be happy. He thinks he deserve it. Happiness, that is.

Sil has no idea what he's talking about, at first, until she remembers the films Katniss had done for District 13 to help turn more rebels to 13's side. She falters for a split second before answering, swallowing back another wave of deceit as she watches herself throw her own desires away, yet again.

"Yes – the propaganda films. It seemed like such a splendid moment, you know, and I – I…" she trails off, staring at Finnick with strangely serious eyes. He isn't looking at her anymore, though, and her heart breaks a little bit at the way he can so easily believe her. She can hardly blame him, but it still disappoints her.

She has lied to him so often already that it should hardly surprise her that he is taking her words at face value now, of all times. Now that there is seemingly no further need to pretend, because there is no Snow to placate and no Capitol to convince. And yet nothing is ever so simple – not even love.

He laughs. It sounds bitter. It makes her skin prickle.

With a chuckle that is entirely bereft of amusement of any sort, Finnick glances up at her and drawls, "So you don't actually love me. That was just a stunt you pulled, just like all the others."

The flatness of his voice reminds Sil of the barrenness of her homeland, the empty expanse of the desert horizon. It is now the sound of her heart as it beats out a declining tune, perfectly mirroring the levelled parallel of the landscape she calls home – like lackluster gems that are cut so many times, they lose their spark of beauty forever.

She couldn't precisely say why this lie has come to her. Her realistic thoughts will chalk it up to her duties yet to come – to the actions she still must take. She tells herself that it would be unforgivable to give him hope and then take it away if she does not make it out of District 1 alive. Better to let him think so little of her than to make him happy for one second, and then miserable for the rest of his life.

And yet…

She knows, deep inside her, that this is not the real reason for this new brand of deceit. There is more to this punishment that she now pushes into the spaces between them.

She is afraid of love. She is afraid of showing someone who she really is. She is so accustomed to hiding herself away that she doesn't even know how to be herself anymore. Her childhood self is unattainable now. She has grown up too quickly, shed that skin too completely, for her to ever return to it. She only knows how to be the Silver Lamprey Cornelius that this man loathes. She only knows how to be the Sterling Nightingale that constantly spins everyone in circles.

She does not know how to love him. Does he not deserve someone who is far better than her? Someone who does not shy away from the love he so earnestly gives? His heart is so big, and though he does not show it off to very many people, Sil sees it clearly. She feels utterly undeserving of him.

She swallows, shoulders tense, and forces herself to look at him right in the eye as she says, "It was a stunt. An act. I'm sorry, Finnick."

Her heart cries out with the betrayal of her words, but she ignores it.

Finnick shoves his hands into his pockets and studies her.

"You're sorry," he repeats. His expression looks bland – not at all like the mischievous, playful light it had contained only minutes before. He raises an eyebrow and muses slowly, "I'm not so sure I believe you, sugar."

With a start, she stares at him, caught off guard at his words. What doesn't he believe? Her apology, or the rest of her claims? Her heart thuds, but again she ignores it.

He takes a step forward and murmurs, "See, I've gotten pretty good at seeing through you. You have certain tells. For example," he breathes, edging closer, "when you lie, your nose twitches."

Sil gapes at him and splutters, "My  _nose_  twitches? Gracious – "

"Why are you lying to me?" he demands, cornering her against the wall with blazing, determined eyes. Suddenly there is nothing flat in his voice or his face – his whole being shines with a resolution that sends shockwaves through her body; miniature hurricanes that rattle through her bones and shake her spirit.

She stares at him with wide eyes, and mutters, "What makes you think I'm lying to you? Our entire relationship has been an act. There was never anything real between us from the very beginning."

It's true, at least on the surface. But somewhere in between the lines of real and unreal, merging swiftly over the barriers put in place by the Capitol and by their own agendas, nothing is so black and white.

Finnick breathes out slowly and agrees, "That's true. We didn't exactly get off to a normal start, but that doesn't mean there's nothing between us." She remains silent, so Finnick edges forward a little more and whispers, "You told me you loved me. Say it again, Silver."

She is tense and unyielding, mind spinning out of control at both his proximity and the soft undertone of his voice. This man is, perhaps, her biggest weakness. When he is around, she loses sight of everything. But she clings to her duties now, because she is not yet allowed to put them aside.

She doesn't say it again, much to Finnick's disappointment. Instead, Sil merely raises a hand to brush her fingers over his cheek. He's got stubble on his jaw, and she shivers at the scratchy feeling of it over her fingertips.

He stares down at her as she leans forward to press her lips against his cheek. As she does, she breathes, "I can't do that, Finnick."

He closes his eyes at her proximity and the cadence of her voice so close to his ear, and murmurs, "You can't, or won't?"

The question makes her chuckle. When she pulls back, her eyes gleam with the very same intelligence that used to throw him for a loop, back when he hadn't known who she truly is. He thinks the spin of it in her eyes is utterly radiant.

She pats him on the cheek and twists her mouth up into a slightly bitter smile.

"Does it matter?" she wonders, hand sliding away. "I have only one goal, Finnick, and it isn't falling in love."

No, because she  _already_  has fallen in love. She's fallen so deeply and so surely that it is almost impossible to remember the rest of her duties.

Unlike before, he doesn't look so very disappointed with her words. He seems to see something in her that she cannot hide, no matter how hard she tries. Instead of disappointment, Finnick just raises an eyebrow at her challengingly.

"Well I have only one goal too, sugar," he whispers, catching her hand and drawing it to his lips. She holds her breath as he presses a kiss against her forth finger of her left hand, which is currently absent of the ring he had placed there weeks ago during the marriage ceremony Snow had forced them into. That ring is now hanging around her neck. Despite the circumstances of its presence, she cannot bring herself to be completely parted from it.

Finnick smirks at her and says, "I'm going to hear you say those words again. I'll be here, when you're ready."

His determination and his confidence shock her. She stares at him with uncontained surprise, face morphing with it as her green eyes gleam into his. Finnick, for his part, just smirks wider and slowly releases her hand, squeezing it gently before he lets go. And then, with a wink, he turns around and starts to walk away, only to call out, "I'm sure we'll be seeing each other a lot over the next few days, sugar. I look forward to making you give in!"

And, once more, Silver Lamprey Cornelius can only stare at Finnick's departing figure in speechless shock, completely blown away yet again by the man she has unwittingly fallen so deeply in love with. The man that, despite the overarching odds, has not left her side even in spite of everything she has done, and everyone she has pretended to be.

She was right, way back when Finnick had initially entered her life all those months ago. Finnick Odair is perhaps the only man in existence who can set her heart ablaze, and it is not so very simple to untangle herself from him after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a drawing done by lottelc, who drew some pictures of Sil that I posted a while ago. She was generous enough to draw out the scene where Finnick and Sil are at Serena's shop in District 4, way back at the beginning of the story. Thank you for letting me share your art!


	53. That presses the depth of the ocean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which several more people arrive at the manor.
> 
> Enjoy!

 

**Chapter Fifty Three | That presses the depth of the ocean**

" _Perhaps her pride had sealed her mind against a better understanding of her own heart. But this she did know – that she meant to capture that obstinate heart back again. That she would conquer once more, and then, that she would never lose him, she would keep him, keep his love, deserve it, and cherish it." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

The remainder of the Victors arrive soon after. Sil, in wake of her sudden run in with Finnick, avoids him as solidly as she can. He seems to have noticed, but to her frustration, it only seems to amuse him. It puts her even more on edge, though she tries her best to mask that, too. It's not so easy to do, once the announcement of the rest of the Victor's arrival comes in.

Her heart is near to beating right out of her chest as she stands at the top of the stairs beside Coin and Plutarch. Gale is on her other side, content, it seems, to watch the proceedings from above. It's strange that his presence brings her such comfort, considering the fact that they hardly know each other, but Sil is glad to have him beside her. He is like a silent, enduring strength that bolsters her as she watches the proceedings from her higher vantage point atop the stairs.

The other Victors – Katniss, Peeta, and Finnick – stand in the courtyard below them. She feels Finnick's gaze on her every now and then, though Sil keeps her eyes firmly away from his. She fears that her love for him will blind her, and that looking at him now will give the depth of her feelings away. Not that it matters all that much – it seems that nothing she does will convince him of her indifference. He truly does see right through her, and it startles her. She is not accustomed to him reading her so well.

The train they are all waiting for had arrived about ten minutes ago, shuttling the remaining Victors into the Capitol. They need only wait a short amount of time before several long black cars pull up to the Presidential manor, and the last members of their group arrive.

Standing from her higher perspective, Sil has a great view of the proceedings. She sees the form of Beetee being helped onto the cement first. It is the first time she's seen him since the Quarter Quell, and is surprised to see that he now needs a wheelchair, for she hadn't known the full extent of his injuries. As one of the soldiers helps him, Johanna Mason pushes herself out of the car. The brash Victor from 7 has been badly injured, both mentally and physically, during her time in the Capitol. That doesn't stop her from pushing the escort of soldiers aside with a roll of her eyes. Sil watches her lips move as she snaps something at Beetee, but the man doesn't appear all that offended. He just smiles in amusement and watches Johanna stomp off with smiling eyes.

Next comes Enobaria from District 2, who looks lethal even in her casual jeans and button down shirt. Her expression is blank and Sil isn't sure if she's happy to be here or not. District 2 is a loyal place full of Snow's supporters, but Victors are rarely so black and white. Enobaria might've spent the first half of her life supporting Snow, but Sil isn't naïve enough to believe that she still does.

Haymitch is next. He exits the car with the familiar sense of swag that he seems to use in all dealings. When he approaches Katniss, he claps the girl hard on the back and gives her his usual leering smile.

Peeta and Finnick, having arrived in the Capitol already, means that the only other Victor remaining is Annie Cresta. Sil is happy that the girl is alright. Though she doesn't know her well, Annie had made a good impression on her during her short stay in District 4, back when everything was…

Well. Back when life made complete sense, and yet no sense at all.

Sil is prepared to see Annie – excited, even. What she isn't prepared for is how Finnick greets her.

She's not sure she's ever seen him so happy. With a loud laugh, he rushes to Annie's side and sweeps her up into an embrace, spinning her around a few times. It makes Annie laugh, too, as she clings onto Finnick's shoulders and tips her head back. They make quite a sight in the courtyard, spinning and laughing in the lightly falling snow. Such a sight that Sil is left with a conflicting mixture of emotion, ranging from happiness to confusion.

At her side, Coin steps forward and raises her hands in greeting. "Welcome, to the seat of our victory! Please come inside – we have rooms prepared and a meal ready after your long trip."

The Victors' attention turns to them, and Sil suddenly feels like a ghost floating just above reality. Her skin itches at the attention. She wishes she was anywhere but here, beneath the stares of the people she had never truly fit in with.

As the group approaches, Johanna catches her eye and raises an eyebrow. She nods at Sil and drawls, "What the hell happened to you? Heard you were stuck in Snow's dungeons for a few days."

As if in a dream, Sil stares at Johanna for a long moment. The other stare at Sil. She knows she's being strangely silent and that it isn't normal, but the words just get stuck in her throat. She suddenly thinks it's hilarious that Johanna, of all people, would seem concerned about her.

Keeping her eyes locked onto Johanna's so that she doesn't have to look at the way Finnick's arm is thrown warmly over Annie's shoulders, Sil slowly smiles and demurely says, "I'm quite sure you wouldn't want to hear it."

She feels odd. Faint. She swallows thickly as Johanna raises a questioning eyebrow and snorts, "Well at least you don't sound nearly as annoying as before. Your voice made me want to puke."

The honesty makes Sil snicker. She narrows her eyes at Johanna playfully and amps up her posh District 1 accent just for her benefit, "Dear me! I certainly hope not! These shoes are limited edition, darling." Then, theatrically, she flashes Johanna one of her famous too-wide smiles, the kind that tends to blind whoever is at the receiving end of it.

Johanna stares at her for a second, looking like she's hedging between the desire to shove her or just walk away. Her final decision is to just roll her eyes with a disgusted grunt and mutter, "It's still fucking annoying."

Sil laughs and glances down at the rest of them, carefully avoiding Finnick's eyes. He's staring at her again, but she's too tired to figure him out. And embarrassed. Actually, she has quite a lot of feelings about him at the moment, so much so that she feels as if she is spinning in circles in the face of it all.

Settling her eyes on Annie, Sil carefully hides her discomfort and genuinely says, "I'm glad you're alright, Annie."

The girl from District 4 beams at her with a friendliness that makes Sil's throat close up. No one ever looks at her like that. It's staggering, especially with the current awkwardness she feels towards the man at Annie's side.

But Annie doesn't appear to even notice the atmosphere, for she just reaches out to touch Sil's shoulder and says, "It's good that you're safe, too."

Sil gives her a small smile, but she can't help but glance down at Finnick's arm, which is still looped around Annie's shoulders. She doesn't look at him directly, but she can tell that he's looking at her. What does he see, she wonders?

In this moment, she thinks she's better off not knowing, but the frantic beating of her heart says otherwise. It always does, around him.

Sil glances up at Annie and gestures to the manor with a wave of her hand. "Shall we go inside? It's a bit stifling, really, but Plutarch has given me permission to redecorate at the first possibility." She beams at Annie, falling quickly back into her alter ego – a far more comfortable mask, at the moment – and trills, "The furnishings are so outdated, darling. It will make you gasp in  _horror_ , I'm sure."

At her side, Gale rolls his eyes and prods Sil forward, careful to avoid her back. She lets him, not arguing because, to be honest, she'd much prefer getting away from Finnick's knowing eyes. With a simpering smirk, Sil glances over at Gale and drawls, "Gale agrees with me, don't you darling?"

The stoic man just snorts and mutters, "Please shut up, Sil."

She snickers, not deeming to respond to him. Instead she just ducks inside quickly, keeping herself ahead of the group so that she doesn't have to look at Finnick. Gracious, she feels so awkward around him all of the sudden! It's a terrible feeling.

She doesn't get very far, though, before Haymitch reaches her side and throws a heavy arm around her back as he drawls, "You're just the same as I remember, sweetheart. And by that, I mean you're insane and slightly annoying."

Normally, Sil might have graced him with a response, but his sudden and heavy touch only makes her gasp – and that's when her pretenses, every last one of them, fall away as she stiffens and crumples a little bit.

Her wounds have scabbed over very nicely from the medical grade ointment the doctors have been reapplying every day, but that doesn't mean her back isn't still tender. The friendly slap Haymitch delivers to it makes a few of them reopen, and unfortunately, the white shirt she's wearing doesn't do much to hide the blood that begins to seep through her bandages. Because she's standing in front of the group, it's rather difficult to hide.

"Sil?" Haymitch asks, looking a bit confused as he watches her face crease with pain. Gale grips her upper arm and helps her straighten up before she falls, holding her securely as she struggles to regain her composure. She does, after a few moments, but unfortunately, it is lost to the rest of them.

"Your back…" Finnick's voice quietly breaks the silence. He reaches her side quickly, putting a hand on her shoulder and staring at the blood stains with eyes that are far too serious for a man like him. Sil, waving everyone away, laughs as if her injuries are no big deal – they surely won't stop her from her latest mission, in any case.

"It's nothing to worry about, darling," is all she says once she's sure the pain won't seep into her voice. She glances quickly at Finnick's expression and shrugs as she straightens her shirt. "I'm perfectly fine."

Her nonchalance makes him frown. "Who did this to you?" he demands, and suddenly Dorsey's words from before tumbles through her mind.

Finnick really is protective of her. She suddenly wishes he wasn't. It would be so much easier if he was indifferent to her plight.

She opens her mouth to tell him to stop worrying, but Gale cuts in and says, "That Felix fellow. Snow's right-hand man. We found her in the cells with her back torn open. She could barely move." At once, Sil glares at him with annoyance, but Gale only raises his eyebrow at her and says, "What? It's the truth."

Wrinkling her nose at him, she mutters, "I could move just fine, thank you very much. As if  _Felix_  would ever stop me."

Around them, Coin and Plutarch don't linger to be a part of this conversation. Plutarch catches Sil's eye as he passes, though, giving her a little nod. She glowers back.

The other Victors, unfortunately, stay right where they are, though Katniss is the only one who looks unsurprised. She'd seen Sil's back up close, after all, and had watched her these past few days as she began to heal from the vicious injury.

Gale gives Sil a look of exasperation and reminds her, "I had to  _carry_  you up three flights of stairs. And," he adds, much to her annoyance, "I've been lashed before too. I'm well aware how painful it is."

More than a little frustrated, especially with Finnick looking at her with such concern, Sil turns to Gale and says, "Do shut up, Hawthorne. You seem to forget that the Capitol has much more advanced medicine than you did in District 12. I'm already feeling much better." She pauses, and grinds out, "Now if you'll excuse me, I have things to do."

She pushes herself out of Gale's grip and starts down the hall, intent on making a quick exit, but naturally Finnick gets in her way. He quickly catches up to her, though he doesn't stop her progress as she leaves the rest of the Victors behind.

"Finnick, it's really not as bad as it looks," she insists, expecting to hear more concern spout from him the first chance he gets. But – to her shock – Finnick just gently grips her arm once they turn the corner and draws her to a halt. She rolls her eyes and turns to him to tell him to stop his incessant worrying, but he merely cups her face in his hands and presses his forehead against hers.

The embrace is so unexpected that Sil can only stare at him with wide eyes, turning to stone beneath his hands. She's completely unsure what to do, especially when Finnick furiously whispers, "I'm going to kill that man."

She stares at him in shock, stunned yet again.

He quips a smile at her and quietly muses, "You know, I like the sight of you speechless." He trails a thumb against the corner of her mouth, which is slightly parted in her surprise, and Sil snaps her jaw closed. Her lips tingle as she remembers how he'd kissed her upon his arrival to the mansion. The way his eyes blaze down at her now makes Sil think he's remembering it, too.

Feeling rather removed, as if she is a ghost drifting away from her own body, Sil murmurs, "I'm glad I amuse you."

He chuckles a bit and shakes his head, forehead still pressed against hers. "You might have amused me, once, but now you just make me  _crazy."_

She raises an imperious eyebrow and wonders, "Is that a good thing?"

Pursing his mouth, he responds swiftly, "I think it is."

She stares at him, unsure what to say, unsure if she should listen to her heart as it screams at her to lean closer. She battles with her desires for a few moments. Finnick watches with a knowing gleam in his eye, as if he is well aware of her struggle. He seems to be aware of her decision, too, once she reaches it, for he doesn't stop her from gently pulling away.

"I'm sure Annie is waiting for you," she tells him, smoothing out her features and straightening her collar just to give her hands something to do. The sudden topic change seems to surprise Finnick – for a moment or two, anyway, until his eyes crease with an emotion she's used to seeing on his face: amusement.

He laughs, crosses his arms, and drawls, "Are you  _jealous?"_

The question makes her look at him quickly, unsure how to respond. He looks like he wants to burst out into laughter. It unsettles her. This man…he drives her crazy too, but not always in a good way.

With a scoff, she steps back and snaps, "What a thing to say! As if I'd ever be  _jeal – "_

His lips cut her off for the second time that day and he lurches forward. She flounders against his abrupt kiss, the rest of her words muffled as he devours the remainder of her sentence, hands flying to cup her face and tangle his fingers into her hair. And – she can't help it, she really can't. Not when he's kissing her like this, with such fire! She is utterly powerless against him. It doesn't even matter that she's been trying to push him away since he got here. None of it matters.

With a sigh, she melts into his kiss, lips moving with his and matching his movements completely. She grapples her fingers into his shirt, clinging to him as their chests press against one another and their mouths move wildly, inelegantly, in alignment with the beating of their hearts.

Her response to him only makes Finnick tug her closer, carefully scooping her against him as his hands linger on her shoulders. He avoids her back, cognizant even now of her injuries, but it hardly stops him from kissing the daylights out of her, and – it hardly stops her from kissing him back just as earnestly.

It takes her far too long to remember herself when he's kissing her like this. When she does, it doesn't seem to matter, because Finnick's eyes are gleaming when she gasps and pulls away yet again. He doesn't appear to be bothered by her sudden jolt away from him. In fact, his expression drops into something resembling awe-inspired mirth, as though he is partially enraptured by her response to his kiss and partially amused at her attempts to refuse him.

"Finnick – " she starts, but he just smirks and presses a swift kiss to her mouth to shut her up.

When he pulls away after only a brief second, he chuckles, "You can deny your feelings all you want, Sil, but after that kiss…" he pauses, eyes softening as he smooths a hand over her white-blonde hair and murmurs, "I don't know why you're doing this, but no one can fake a kiss like that."

She glowers and pulls away, clearing her throat awkwardly because she knows he's right. Still, she doesn't verbally give in. She's not sure why, especially when all she wants to do is drag him back to kiss him all over again.

"…You're  _incorrigible_  – "

"I love you," is all he returns with. It shuts her up pretty fast, and makes her turn to stare at him with eyes wider than he's ever seen them. His mouth twists up at the sight of her shocked expression. Chuckling, he shrugs, "Just because you refuse to say it doesn't mean I won't. I love you, Sil. And I know you love me back. What I don't understand is why you're trying so hard to pretend otherwise. Don't you think we should just be honest with each other by now?"

She fumbles at the question. Lately, she's been doing that quite a lot.

"…There are things…" she murmurs hesitantly, unwilling to broach the subject in too much detail lest it get in the way of the freedom she needs in order to enact her plans. "…Things I must do, before this is over. I don't yet have that luxury."

She catches his eye with a serious look that puts a thoughtful expression on his face. Neither of them misses the wording of her sentence. The way she hints that, one day, she will be able to be honest as him. Just not today.

He sighs out but doesn't look too upset with her. His eyes are hopeful and open when he tells her, "Okay. I understand."

The surprise that shoots through her gaze isn't overlooked, and Finnick chuckles, "What? I do. You're the  _Sterling Nightingale_. Can you just promise me one thing?"

She's hesitant to say yes, so all she does is nod slowly, looking up at him with a questioning expression. He reaches for her hand and tangles their fingers together.

"…Once you're finished with whatever it is you're doing," he murmurs, "come to me. I'm tired of pretending I don't want you, Sil. I want every single part of you."

His eyes flash at her, and Sil feels the burn of desire smolder through her at the look on his face. She tightens her fingers around his without thought, heart hammering in her chest in response to his words. It takes such effort not to throw herself into his arms – far more effort than she would have ever imagined.

Her mouth upturns into the barest hint of a smile, and, eyes gleaming with unspoken emotion, Sil breathes, "You wouldn't be able to keep me away even if you tried, Finnick Odair."

The cadence of her voice, the expressive way her eyes linger on his – she could have very well told him she loves him, for all the affection pouring from her gaze. He knows it, and he smiles, his own heart beating just as quickly as hers, and in perfect alignment.

He opens his mouth to say something, though in truth he isn't sure what words he means to use, but someone's voice cuts in.

"Sil! I've been looking everywhere for you."

The familiar voice that Sil has been waiting to hear all day makes her abruptly turn, and at once, she becomes the Sterling Nightingale – eyes hard, body straight – transforming before Finnick's eyes so absolutely that he can only stare and wonder yet again how he had missed the colossal secret of her true identity all this time.

"Tommy," Sil greets, glancing down at the satchel he's got slung over one shoulder. She knows all too well what garments lay within the fabric casing, and she knows how they will be used.

She glances over at Finnick one last time, squeezing his hand again before dropping it from her grasp and moving to Tommy's side. Finnick just stands there watching as she grasps the man's shoulder and directs him down the hall, voice quiet as she inquires into something he cannot hear at this distance.

What plan is brewing in that brilliant mind of hers? What necessity of purpose keeps her from admitting her love for him with the same boldness with which she had summoned back in the streets of the Capitol?

He is not sure, but he will get to the bottom of this, because there is something in the atmosphere that gives him pause. Something dark and dangerous. Something that he means to protect this woman from even if she doesn't need his help.

Love is a strange creature. It buffets you, sweeps you up into its embrace, asks for nothing and everything at the same time. It frightens him and strengthens him simultaneously, battering him with waves of desire that leaves him speechless, yet fills him with such passion that he hardly knows what to do in the face of it.

* * *

"Two Factory uniforms, as requested," Tommy says, dropping his satchel onto her bed the moment they enter Sil's borrowed room. She shuts the door quickly and turns to peruse the contents of the bag with a measured expression. There are, indeed, two uniforms waiting for her. The crisp cotton fabric is soft to the touch, and the ID patches sewn into the disguises will only further pass them as Factory workers. She only hopes the disguise will hold once they reach their destination.

"Good," she says, glancing up at her partner and friend with a twist of her mouth. "I assume the soldiers checked your bag before letting you inside?"

Tommy nods and sits down on her bed with a stretch. "Yeah. They didn't realize what they were, though. It helps that they've never been to District 1 before." He shrugs and adds, "I told them it was just a change of clothes and nothing more. They didn't question me."

Sil hums. He catches her eye and asks, "What's the plan? I assume this is about the riots."

She nods slowly. "You know my father is there. I have to get him out before it's too late. Coin refuses to send soldiers in to help, so I'm afraid this is a solo mission. The other agents are on their way to 1 as we speak."

Tommy frowns at her, "She refuses to send soldiers? Doesn't she know how bad the riots are? It's all over the news."

His question makes her pause, unsure how to respond when she doesn't know the full story behind Coin's decision. All she knows is that there is something glimmering beneath the surface of Coin's persona that makes Sil uneasy. She explains this carefully, in halting words. Tommy absorbs the information with keen interest, watching her expression closely. He's never officially met President Alma Coin from District 13, though he's been part of her cause for nearly as long as Sil. Born and bred in the Capitol, Tommy is what one might call an 'at-home rebel'. At least, that's what Sil likes to call him when she's feeling playful. She doesn't feel very playful now, though.

"I understand Coin's decision. The Capitol is a tattered mess, but the riots in 1 and 2 are far more concerning. I don't think she understands the gravity of loyalty those people have towards Snow," Sil tells him as she empties the satchel. Along with the Factory uniforms, he had also brought some of her make-up and hair dye. She lays it out on the mattress with a contemplative expression.

Tommy shrugs and says, "She's a fool for overlooking this, then." She glances at him with a raised eyebrow and he laughs, "What? I'm a rebel through and through but that doesn't mean I'm completely loyal to Coin. After everything we've been through, y _ou're_  the one who holds my loyalty."

His words make her smile. She sighs and sits beside him, murmuring, "Does that mean you'll be accompanying me to District 1?"

He smirks at her and nudges her arm, "Hell yeah. When are we leaving?"

"…Tomorrow night. Under the cover of darkness. Coin will be meeting with the Victors the day after that for some kind of vote – she won't tell me what it's about, but we need to be gone by then."

Tommy nods. "Alright. Are you sure you'll be okay to do this, though? With your back." The look she sends him make him raise his hands up in surrender, "Dorsey mentioned it, is all. This isn't gonna be a walk in the park and you need to be in good condition if we're going to do this successfully."

Sil sighs. "Despite the circumstances, I'll be alright. I'll go down and get new bandages soon."

He doesn't argue, which she's grateful for. Even if she was in a worse condition, she'd still go. Her father is trapped in District 1, and who knows whether or not he's safe? If Coin won't help her save him, then she will do it herself – consequences be damned. She hasn't dedicated the last seven years of her life to bring that woman to power. Her true motivation lies in bringing an to end the corruption and to free Panem of the brutality of Snow's clutches. She owes her allegiance to no one.

Turning to Tommy, she murmurs, "Listen, keep Dorsey out of this okay? The less people know, the better."

The order surprises him. The three of them have been operating together in the Capitol for as long as he can remember. They rarely keep anything of this caliber from each other when it concerns Nightingale business.

"…Are you sure?" he asks. Sil runs a hand through her hair and sighs.

"I'm not sure of anything, anymore," she grumbles, "but if Coin catches wind of this, it's over before it begins. Can I trust you, Tommy?"

He looks at her, catching her eye, and sends her a dashing grin. "Always, Sil."

They smile at each other. Her smile drops away, though, when he suddenly and very slyly wonders, "So…you and Odair seemed pretty cozy in that hallway."

To her frustration, she feels herself immediately blush. It is a sight that is very rare on her face, and Tommy stares at it with a humored expression. He chuckles. She just pushes him.

"That's none of your business!" she responds, sounding perfectly horrified, and his chuckle turns into a full-blown laugh. She glowers at him and stands up, shucking the Factory uniforms carefully out of sight before muttering, "Gracious…"

Tommy smirks, then turns towards her and suddenly says, "I nearly forgot – there was someone asking for you when I walked in. Were you expecting anyone else?"

Sil just glances over at him and frowns, "No."

Tommy hums, then narrows his eyes at her and mumbles, "She looked kinda like you, now that I think of it. Anyhow, you should probably go down to the medical tents to check your back. I'm gonna go find a place to sleep for a while."

With that, he takes his leave without another word, and doesn't even notice the way Sil's face has frozen with surprise. She stares at the door silently, hands still full of the Factory uniforms, and doesn't move an inch. Her mind, however…

Suddenly, she has a very strong feeling that she knows who this person is, who had been asking for her when Tommy had arrived.

Quite suddenly, the mission that she has been so entrenched in for the last few days seems to slip from her mind entirely. The uniform falls from her hands. Before it even hits the floor, Sil is stepping forward to throw the door open and make her way down the hall.


	54. Into my soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Aurelian returns, Sil receives news concerning Felix, and several plans are put into motion.
> 
> Here's a fun fact for you all if you're interested: my original plan concerning Sil's family was to make President Coin her mother. Once I got to this arc, though, and brought Gemma into the picture again, his personality just clashed way too much with Coin's and I knew I had to scrap the idea.
> 
> And here's another fun fact: I'm now posting The Desert's Edge, my Gloss/OC story. The first chapter is out and I'll be updating the story every Monday and Thursday, as it's already pretty much completed. Feel free to go check it out!
> 
> Hope you all enjoy this chapter. Until next time!

**Chapter Fifty Four | Into my soul**

 

" _Her voice was musical and low, and there was a great deal of calm dignity and of many sufferings nobly endured marked in the handsome, aristocratic face, with its wealth of snowy-white hair dressed high above the forehead, after the fashion of the time." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

Her movements are erratic and quick. Her back is just a little sore as a result, but only a little. The medical technology of the Capitol might not be at its fullest power as of now, but there are still quite a few tricks that the doctors have been able to use to heals her wounds faster than they would heal on their own. They are still sore, and if she moves too fast they open up and set the healing process back, but she hardly bats an eye at the injury now. She's far more focused on reaching the ground floor of the mansion.

Soldiers and military strategists and Coin's generals are everywhere, walking through the halls purposefully. Beside them, Sil feels utterly adrift for the first time that she can recall. She isn't sure what she's looking for, or if the object of her search is even here after all. She doesn't know if she's being optimistic. There are surely plenty of people who might perhaps be looking for the Sterling Nightingale.

And yet, when she does find her, all of these thoughts fall away. She doesn't recognize the woman at first. As she slowly meanders down the tall staircase that leads from the second floor into the foyer, Sil scans the room with narrowed intent. She's half caught between feeling silly for even looking at all and frustrated for not finding her. A line of soldiers are marching through the foyer, intent no doubt on going farther in to find one of their commanding officers. It is only when the final addition to the group is halfway across the room that she sees Finnick standing on the other side of it, and at his side…

Abruptly, and with all the unbridled force of a hurricane, Sil's throat closes up and her eyes fill with tears.

She lets out a gasping, strangled heave that has a nearby soldier turning to give her a concerned look, but Sil has eyes only for her mother – and Aurelian, when she glances over and locks eyes with her, seems to feel the exact same way. She is swept up with a strange cocktail of emotion as her mother turns to her mid-sentence, mouth parted, face pale, hands shaking. Beside her, Finnick steps back and glances over at Sil with a quiet smile, but Sil doesn't even notice. Half of her wants to rush into her mother's arms; the other half is too tentative to move. She hasn't seen her in seven years.

But Aurelian just smiles tearfully and opens her arms, and Sil feels her tears spill down her cheeks as she accepts the silent gesture. They meet in the center of the room, and when Aurelian embraces her daughter, Sil sinks into her with a teary laugh and a shaky, "Mama. I didn't – I hadn't realized…I – " She laughs at herself and says in a stronger voice, "I missed you so much."

At once, Sil is thrown back into time. In her mother's arms, she is suddenly a child again, cheerful and full of untempered joy as she runs around the home that she grew up in. Memories slam into her left and right – baking together in the kitchen, dancing on the tiled floors while her father looked on, whiling away the day in the aviary atop the estate and watching her mother coo at the nightingales that she kept there. Her mother and father, arm in arm, walking with Sil through the shopping center in District 1. Her father sweeping her mother into a laughing kiss when Sil's attention had been captured by the glittering gems in his workshop. The songs her mother would sing to her when she would lift her into her bed and kiss her goodnight…

"Oh, my darling," Aurelian whispers, leaning back to take her daughter's face into her hands and beam down at her. There is something akin to pride in her eyes; it is a great, encompassing joy that makes Sil smile, too. Her mother shakes her head as if she can't quite believe that she is standing here with Sil after all this time, and murmurs, "Look how beautiful you've become. Where did my little girl go?"

Sil swallows back a wave of tears and laughs, "I wasn't expecting to see you."

Her mother just replies, "I wasn't about to let everyone leave me behind." Sil smiles, and Aurelian adds, "I've missed you too, my darling. Every day."

The two are so wrapped up in each other that they barely even see what is going on around them. Finnick watches the scene curiously. Their hushed words are shrouded by the general clamor of the room, but the expressions on their faces is enough to give him a clear idea into what is going on. Seeing them standing side by side is a little startling, considering how alike they are in appearance.

It is clear that Sil got her looks from Aurelian. Both women have the same white-blonde hair and sparkling green eyes; the same willowy frames and dignified demeanors. The only things that separate them in appearance are age and Sil's slightly gentler features. She did not inherit Aurelian's sharp cheekbones, but rather her father's softer face.

"Finnick has been telling me about the recent events," her mother murmurs, sweeping her hand gingerly over Sil's cheek. Her fingers sink into the white-blonde hair with a sigh, and she asks, "He said you were hurt. Are you alright, my darling?"

Despite the fact that Sil had already gotten a handle on her tears, they return with full force at the quiet concern that perforates her mother's voice. Her tone is exactly as she remembers it to be, back when she was a child and had gotten hurt on one of her jaunts through the mansion or the grounds surrounding it. Her mother would never hesitate to wrap her up into her arms and coo at her whenever she stumbled and fell, and when Sil – impatient as ever – struggled to get out of her hold to stubbornly return to her playing, her mother would always sigh exasperatingly and tell her father that it was his fault for making such a hardheaded child.

This time, Sil doesn't try to get out of her mother's arms. Instead, she just sinks further into them as she raises a hand to wipe at the tears that she thought she had a handle on.

"I'm fine, mama," she swallows, and her eyes lift to clash with the man who has been watching the proceedings all this time.

Finnick hasn't moved from where he had been standing before. His hands are casually stuffed into his pockets, and his eyes are shining at her from across the room. He's watching her with a strange, quiet smile that makes her heart erratically thud in her chest.

"Do you know Finnick very well?" she finds herself asking as she pulls back to glance at her mother.

Aurelian's mouth lifts up into a smile at the question, and she chuckles, "He's the one who put in the request to Coin to bring me here. If it wasn't for him, I'd still be in District 13."

Not expecting this, Sil feels herself blush lightly and lifts her hands to push her hair back. She feels everywhere at once. Her emotions are so ungrounded that for the first time in a very long time, she has no idea what she's supposed to feel. Joy, surely, for seeing her mother again. Happiness to be reunited. Worry about her father, who has not yet been allowed his own reunion. Confusion about Finnick's presence here, with her mother.

She frowns and murmurs, "Let's go back to my room, mama. We have so much to talk about." Aurelian hums, smiling maternally down at Sil and lifting up to pat her cheek once more before drawing back. Sil gestures to the stairs and haltingly murmurs, "I…I'll be there in a moment…"

Her mother smiles knowingly, but Sil is already turning back to Finnick. Suddenly, the fright she had felt upon first seeing him on the veranda the other morning feels almost insignificant.

"Finnick," she breathes when she reaches his side.

He looks down at her and merely reaches forward to thumb away the lingering wetness on her cheeks, mouth lifting up in soft amusement as he murmurs, "You're not supposed to cry on such a happy occasion, sugar."

His words only make Sil want to cry that much more. When he sees her eyes fill with tears again, he  _tsks_  and brings her closer, wrapping his arms around her and hauling her against his chest. She laughs as she goes, voice shaking nearly as badly as her fingers when they reach up to grasp his sleeves. She holds onto him tightly, burying her face against his neck as her mother's words spin through her head.

Will she ever deserve such a man?

Sil leans back to catch his eye, reaching up to cup his cheek and turn his face towards her. His eyes look greener than usual in the light of the floor length windows, and they burn into hers when he meets her gaze.

"Thank you," she whispers breathily.

He rests his forehead against hers and shakes his head.

"Anything for you, Silver," he whispers back, and watches her with that endearing softness as she smiles and starts to quietly laugh.

As she stands there in the circle of his arms with her mother nearby and her love for him brimming up solidly in her chest, his words from earlier trickle through her mind once more.

"… _Come to me. I'm tired of pretending I don't want you, Sil. I want every single part of you."_

The burn of love she had initially felt is rekindled at the mere memory, and Sil has to literally battle down her desire to tell him how badly she wants him. But –

There are too many things she must do first. Things that cannot wait, even for the cadences of love. Things that she must turn all her focus to for the time being. For she is the Sterling Nightingale, and her song still rings out.

The final tune has yet to sound.

* * *

"Tell me everything," her mother says the moment they enter Sil's room on the second floor. After dragging herself away from Finnick to return to her mother's side, Sil had been wrapped up once more in the familiar embrace of her mother's arms, and even as they had walked away, her emotions had been a tangled mess of confusion. She can't recall ever feeling quite so strung out over such a wonderful event. Perhaps that's because her life is so rarely full of good things.

Sil turns to her mother with a teary laugh as she shuts the door of her room, and runs a hand over her face. "Gracious, but there's so much to tell. It's been seven years."

Seven years. The reminder hits her hard. Such a lengthy separation has done things to their relationship that she can't quite explain. In the harsh brush of time's passage, she has forgotten many things about her mother that she never thought it possible to forget. She supposes that that's what happens, when you go without someone for so long. You lose sight of their character; you forget the details of their person.

You forget the exact planes of their face, and the precise color of their eyes; the warmth of their energy beside yours; the sound of their voice when they are happy. The silly things fade away – the things that don't truly matter, yet are so important to you nonetheless, like the way they walk or the way they laugh or the way they make you feel safe and protected.

You take these things for granted when they are still with you, because you do not yet realize the cold grasp of time and the way it is always watching from afar, stealing seconds like they are precious stones. It is only when they are gone that you see how arrogant you had been before, in thinking that you are above time's embrace. And when they leave and you begin to forget all these details that you never thought you would, your heart aches with singular betrayal, and you feel that you are at fault for the forgetting; that you should have done better to preserve their memory.

Sil feels that way, as she looks past seven years of separation and into her mother's familiar green eyes.

Truly, she has forgotten how brightly they shine. She's forgotten the warmth of her smiles and her regal bearing. But – she has not forgotten the patient serenity of her person. These silent impressions can never be lost, not matter how many years pass you by or how deeply your memories fall away. You will never forget the way that person's aura fills the room and the way it feels for you to be near them. Sometimes this is a curse; sometimes, a blessing.

Aurelian smiles quietly and sits down on the edge of the bed with a soft sigh.

"Well, let's start with the main things. You becoming the Sterling Nightingale, for one," she says, and spears her daughter with a raised brow.

It's strange, how Sil suddenly feels like a child again beneath her mother's eyes. How it feels as though she is being berated for something as trivial as running around the halls and terrorizing Hale.

Aurelian must see something flicker through Sil's eyes as she stands there in the center of the room, for she laughs and pats the bed beside her. "I could never be upset with you, my darling, when I was the one who is at fault for altering your life so much." She falls silent, and then gravely adds, "If it wasn't for me, you would never have been Reaped."

The grievous words make Sil pause. She frowns and steps over to the bed, sinking down beside her mother. For a moment, neither of them speak, but then…

"I would probably still be living in District 1, perhaps even with a family of my own. My life would have been perfect. I could have had everything I ever thought I wanted," Sil replies, and glances over at Aurelian's expression. As it falters, she quietly adds, "And I would have been so dreadfully bored with it all."

Her words have Aurelian laughing sadly. She reaches up to wipe her eyes and murmurs, "You always were a wild child."

Sil laughs too, a bit more joyfully, and turns to face her mother fully. She reaches for her hand and presses it into her lap, threading their fingers together as she says, "I have never blamed you for anything that's happened to me, mama. It hasn't been an easy road, but so many good things have come out of it. It's given me purpose."

Aurelian glances up at her slyly, and softly says, "It's given you love, too."

At this, Sil feels herself blush.

Her mother smiles and pats her hand. Her eyes shine when she murmurs, "Finnick is much different in person than he is on television."

Sil laughs aloud at this, wholeheartedly agreeing with this keen insight. Finnick is indeed a different man than she had ever thought he was, back before she had truly gotten to know him. His reputation in the Capitol has always verged on a playboy, yet as a Victor herself, Sil had always wondered just how true that reputation really was. She knows the horrors of President Snow's reign well. She has never been as naïve as her fellow Victors used to believe. Finnick…well, he is so much  _more_  than the man he pretends to be on Capitol television.

He is gentle, and soft. He makes her laugh even when she is in no mood to. He makes her feel safe. Everything he does is like a warm breeze that sweeps her up so solidly that she can hardly recall what being cold is like.

Aurelian studies her daughter's face with a quiet smile, and chuckles, "We ran into each other quite by accident in District 13. You've certainly made that boy's life difficult, Silver."

At this, Sil clears her throat and sends her mother a halfhearted shrug. She doesn't need to be told such a thing when she already knows it well. Still, there is a trace of disappointment in her mother's voice that makes her feel like that child again. It surprises Sil to hear it there, for it means that Aurelian must like Finnick very much to defend him from her own daughter.

"I was trying to protect him," she responds haltingly, and her mother smiles.

"I know," is all she says. Then, softly, she adds, "Still, when you love someone, you should never hide yourself away from them. Do you think that love is a common thing? It may seem like it is, but real love is rare, and you must fight for it or you will never have it."

Sil hums and looks away, twisting her hands a bit as she considers the words. She certainly wasn't expecting to be discussing Finnick with her mother, but she supposes she shouldn't be surprised. It had been Finnick who had requested that her mother be brought here. Finnick, who had gone out of his way to do something for her that she could never have anticipated. She smiles at the thought, but doesn't say anything more.

Aurelian does, though. With a happy sigh, she tells her, "I've followed you as much as I could from District 13 over the years. President Coin was…kind enough to allow me to watch your wedding as well…"

Sil glances up at her to respond, but pauses when she catches sight of the strange expression that her mother is now wearing. It is conflicted, almost. When their eyes meet, her gaze is filled with inexplicable wariness.

"You're right, Silver. Seven years is a long time," she murmurs, and leans in. "I've spent all that time living in District 13. I am not sure that Coin…" she trails off, looking like she isn't sure what to say. Sil purses her lips.

She squeezes her mother's hands and quietly responds, "I know. The moment I met her at the manor I…it's hard to explain, only there is something off about her that I do not fully trust."

Aurelian looks relieved that Sil is on the same page, and sighs, "So many things have changed in so short a time. Promise me you'll be careful, Silver." Sil pauses again, and her mother raises an eyebrow at her silence. "What is it?" she wonders, watching her daughter's face closely.

Now that she is here, with the girl that had been so unwillingly estranged from for so long, her own memories crash back and forth through her as they sit together on the side of the bed. Sil's dilemma goes both ways – this forgetful curse of time's hand has played upon them both, dulling even the most poignant memories as if they are merely diamonds cut one too many times. The surface that was once crystal clear is ruined; just one cut throws off the entire balance. But now…

Everything comes rushing back. Sil's youthful face, her shining eyes, the wispy strands of her hair as they frame her face. Many things about her daughter have changed over the last seven years, but many things have not.

"…It's father," Sil rushes out, and stands up. It's funny, how two simple words can have such an impact. How all of the sudden, time itself seems to stand still. Instead of stealing their seconds, it almost feels as if it is returning them, throwing them back so forcefully that it feels like a physical blow that crashes against them.

"Your father?" Aurelian questions with a concerned frown. "What is wrong, Silver? Is Gemma alright?"

Sil just purses her mouth and turns to her mother, and when she begins to explain the events that have been sweeping through Districts 1 and 2 these last few days, time seems to reel through the room like a creature to itself. When everything is revealed, Aurelian frowns deeply and stands up at well, walking to the window of Sil's room to look out across the grounds. In the near distance, the rose gardens loom up.

She thinks of her husband. The last time she had seen Gemma had been the night she was arrested. They were woken up abruptly by Hale, and not even the safety of Gemma's arms could protect her from the President's wrath. His face had been heartbroken and frightened. They had both known that it was the last time they would ever see each other again. Or, at least, it would have been if they hadn't had such a rebellious, stubborn daughter. She supposes that, if fate is unkind, it is very possible that she will truly never see her husband again. These riots in District 1 could mean the end for him, and she may never have the chance to look upon his smiling face or his warm, loving eyes again.

With a frown, Aurelian narrows her eyes at the rose gardens and exhales slowly, calming her racing heart as she considers these things. She has spent seven years in District 13, waiting to be reunited with her family. Seven years spent wondering if her husband has moved on from her. Seven years doubting that their love is strong enough to survive such an unconquerable situation.

Love – it is not always meant to last. Sometimes, its presence in your life is a fleeting thing. Its purpose is always shrouded in the beginning. You never know if it is here to stay or if its arrival is merely to teach you a lesson before it moves on. And yet, had she not just said that real love is something you must fight for?

It is silent for a moment, but the silence does not last very long before Aurelian is turning to her daughter and raising her chin. In a stout voice, she says, "I'm not about to let my own husband get overrun by our ridiculous kinsmen. I do hope you have a plan, my darling."

And Sil, well, she just raises her eyebrows at her and smiles. She is the Sterling Nightingale, after all, and she always has a plan.

* * *

After spending much of the day with her mother, explaining the riots and what else has been happening, Sil finally goes to the medical tents to get her back rebandaged. Sil makes her way back into the manor after letting the doctor look at the wounds, searching for someone in particular. When she finally hunts him down, Sil calls out, "Cassius! Darling, it's so good to see a familiar face. How are you?"

The soldier who had brought her coffee several mornings ago turns to her with a blush, looking extremely surprised that she had called him by name. He gives her a bashful smile and greets, "Hello, ma'am."

She manages to appear as if the run-in is totally accidental, despite the fact that she's just spent twenty minutes searching for his boyish face among the other rebel soldiers who occupy the manor. With a beaming smile, she gives him a look over and her face morphs into an almost theatrical horror. The look instantly has Cassius glancing around, wondering what the cause is for such an expression.

But Sil just gasps, "Gracious, don't you soldiers ever wear anything other than those jumpsuits? Humor me, my love – how many of those do you even have?"

The question is asked with an inane laugh, as if the mere prospect of having more than one is ridiculous to her. But it is, in fact, a calculated question delivered in a very uncalculating manner.

Cassius raises his eyebrows at her but can't help the laugh that bursts forth. He's probably never been asked such a question before. It's amusing to him, and his answer is therefore readily given.

"About three or four, ma'am. It's what we all wear in District 13."

Sil wrinkles her nose and pats him on the shoulder in condolence. "You poor thing. You'd look simply marvelous in a suit and tie. Blue – to bring out those lovely eyes of yours." She smiles widely at him as he blushes.

Hooking her arm around his, she begins to walk down the hall with him. "Now Cassius, darling, one of these days you must let me do something about your wardrobe. I suppose those uniforms are industrial enough for a place like 13, but we're in the Capitol now! This fabric wouldn't pass for anything in the world, you know. It's far too rough. How do you wash it? With hot or cold water?"

The abrupt inquiry seems to throw him off, but he doesn't look suspicious of the seemingly random question. Scratching his neck with his free hand, Cassius pauses and says, "…Well, in 13 we just…send them to the laundry division. I don't wash them myself. Er…why?"

Sil shrugs and grins at him, "Fashion is my forte, darling, and I'm curious about you."

The sudden interest she's giving him definitely makes Cassius somewhat overeager, in a boyish way that she finds endearing. He is quick to blush, and she is quick to make him do so.

"Now that you're in the Capitol, you'll have to wash your own clothes, I suppose," she comments in passing, to which he nods, still confused about this line of questioning. But Sil expertly makes it appear as if she is merely exchanging small talk with him as she adds with a raised, amused brow, "Assuming you brought more than one of those jumpsuits, that is."

She chuckles and he joins in. "We might be from District 13, but we're not barbarians. Uh – ma'am," he swiftly adds, blushing again.

Sil turns to him mirthfully and agrees, "Surely not! You're all very brave and honorable. Without you, we wouldn't have gotten as far as we have."

His blush heightens at the forthright compliment and he ducks his head. They pause in their walk and Sil pats him on the arm as she untangles herself from him.

"It was so lovely to see you again, Cassius. Make sure you wash this fabric with hot water! Until later!" she spins off, leaving him with what her alter ego would deem to be 'imperative information' as she smirks to herself and starts off down the hallway. Cassius just stares at her back with a raised eyebrow, not really sure what's just happened. But – unbeknownst to him, Sil got precisely what she needed out of the conversation.

She changes course at the end of the hallway and makes her way to the lower level of the manor, where she's sure no one will notice a couple of missing jumpsuits for another few days.

* * *

Upon finishing the brunt of her preparation, Sil meets back up with Tommy for lunch. The two of them gather together at their own table, away from the others, and speak in quiet undertones regarding the important necessities of the operation they will be embarking on in secret. It is as good a place to talk as any. The 'cafeteria' is actually a tent that's been set up outside the manor, where the majority of the soldiers stationed at the manor come to grab a bit to eat in between their rounds. This time of the day is the busiest, and the loud conversations going on in the tent do remarkably well to cover up their own private one.

Of course, their meeting doesn't go entirely unnoticed.

"What do you think they're talking about?" Katniss wonders. The other Victors are also gathered for a meal. They glance over at the duo, who are rather hard to miss. The Sterling Nightingale seems to have gained a bit of a following since her true identity came out, at least among the rebel army. She sticks out like a sore thumb with her black combat gear and magnetic countenance. As always, Sil is difficult to overlook.

Finnick thoughtfully bites into his sandwich as he watches her lean over the table and flick through the PAAD laying in front of her, between her and the man he had only just met the other day. It's odd to see the serious look on her face, and stranger still to see the expression on Tommy's. He looks totally enraptured and equally as serious as he soaks in whatever Sil is saying. Finnick can't help but wonder how long the two of them have known each other.

Gale, who's sitting beside Katniss, looks over his shoulder at the pair and says, "Probably about the riots in District 1. Coin put her in charge of that."

The reminder makes Katniss nod. "Yeah. You're probably right. Something about sending agents there."

This is news to Finnick, who had only recently arrived at the manor and has yet to hear about any of the latest news. He turns to them with raised eyebrows and asks, "Riots?"

Beside him, Annie looks up too and frowns. Johanna mutters, "That doesn't sound good."

Indeed, it doesn't. A warning bell goes on in Finnick's mind, though he can't say exactly where it comes from. Sil's been acting a bit off lately, but he isn't sure if it's just her being the Nightingale or something else. He's beginning to think it's the latter.

Her words from earlier ring in his ears.

" _There are things I must do before this is over…"_

What things are those, exactly? Will it put her in danger? His eyes darken at the thought, and he turns to stare at her figure from across the space, watching her point at something on the screen of the PAAD as she looks up at the man in front of her.

Gale muses, "She's planning something. She seemed annoyed with Coin earlier. I don't think she agreed with Coin's decision not to send soldiers to 1 and 2."

Finnick's mind in spinning. Particularly with one realization.

"Her father is in 1," he slowly muses, easily recalling the father-daughter relationship the two share. They are as close as any parent and child, perhaps even more so. Gemma Cornelius dotes on his daughter like any father would, and Sil looks up to him with a love that she could never fabricate.

Gale glances over at him and says, "He'll be alright. From what I've gathered, Sil's sending agents there to protect him."

Is she really? Or is there something more going on than what she's outwardly admitting? He can't seem to shake the suspicion roiling through him at the thought – especially when he notices Dorsey approaching the pair. Whatever he says to Sil seems to take her aback. He watches her expression contort into shock that quickly turns thunderous. He's never seen such anger on her face before and he feels the clinging sense of curiosity drive through him at the sight. What on earth has sparked such an emotion?

Across the tent, Sil stares at Dorsey with green eyes that are quickly turning dark.

"What did you say?" she asks, standing up. Dorsey looks equally sharp as he repeats the words for only her and Tommy to hear.

"I've just received word from Marcus. He arrived in District 1 this morning," he murmurs quietly, showing her the message. Sil takes his PAAD and reads it quickly, devouring the words with building gravity that looks strange and unfamiliar on the normally happy planes of her face.

Felix. Felix is in District 1. How is this possible, and why? Does he think he is safe there, hiding in plain sight among people who disagree with the overturning of President Snow's government? What is his purpose in her hometown, if not to wreak havoc?

She looks up at Dorsey with stormy eyes and says, "Coin must know he's there. Why is she not doing anything about it?"

Across the table, Tommy frowns and murmurs, "He's one of the most wanted people in Panem right now. She's purposefully ignoring his presence."

Dorsey chimes in to say, "Don't do anything rash, Sil. If he's in District 1, you can't go headlong into one of your plans."

The slightly baffled look Sil sends him makes Dorsey smirk, "What, you think I didn't suspect you were going in to rescue your father? You don't know me as well as you think. And before you ask, no, I didn't tell anyone about my suspicions. You do what you have to do. Just – be careful. Felix could very well be lying in wait for you."

His warning doesn't make her bat an eye though. Sil just smirks and says, "Oh, I'm quite sure he is. Which means I'll need to change my plans around a bit to accommodate him. Dorsey, where is Coin right now?"

He raises an eyebrow at the question and responds, "In a meeting with Plutarch, I think."

"Where?"

"Plutarch's office."

Sil nods as she hands Dorsey's PAAD back to him. "Good. Do me a favor and stall her if you see her going to her office, okay?"

Both Tommy and Dorsey give her narrowed looks. Sil just flashes them an inane smile and trills, "I've work to do, darlings. Tommy, meet me on the veranda in an hour. If the other agents contact you, Dorsey, tell them to meet me outside the west entrance of the Factory dressed in Peacekeeper armor."

The odd request makes him cross his arms and demand, "Sil, don't get me wrong – I think you're pretty damn great – but what the hell are you planning?"

She just smirks wider and pats him on the shoulder, leaning in to murmur, "What I'm planning, Dorsey, is probably one of my most insane missions yet. Or haven't you noticed?"

She flashes him a sharp look that, coupled with her smirk, makes her eyes gleam with intelligence, before heading off at a fast pace for the manor.

She doesn't realize that she's being watched – or if she does, Sil doesn't give her knowledge of it away. She neither looks over at Finnick and the Victors nor does she hesitate as she catches sight of Cassius standing around a few other soldiers as they eat a quick lunch.

Immediately, she changes course and slips an arm around his with a beaming smile that once again makes the poor boy blush bright red at her sudden presence by his side.

"We really have to stop running into each other, my love," she purrs, dropping the stormy expression she had only just been wearing for a far more amicable one. Cassius flounders a bit, mouth full, and coughs. The other soldiers guffaw a bit and her blatant flirting, and Sil sends them a wink as she drags Cassius along with her, laughing loudly on her way towards the manor.

"I need you to do something for me, darling…" her voice sounds, just barely audible over the rest of the busy tent, but still clear enough for both Dorsey as well as the Victors to hear.

Dorsey and Tommy just share a slightly exasperated look. As for the Victors…

"Oh, she's good," Johanna smirks as she watches Sil flirt her way across the grounds.

Finnick just frowns at the sight. He's got a feeling that he's missing something really important – but, as usual when it comes to Sil, he has no idea what it is.

To be honest, he's getting a little tired of that feeling.


	55. You are a blaze of wildfire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Sil comes face to face with the devil, in a variety of forms, and she sets her gaze to District 1

 

**Chapter Fifty Five | You are a blaze of wildfire**

" _She smiled, in the midst of all her anxiety and through her gathering tears, at the thought of the ruling passion strong in death, of Percy running into the wildest, maddest dangers, with the latest-cut coat upon his back, and the laces of his jabot unruffled." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

Coin's office is immaculate. Sil is unsurprised. She's also grateful at the moment, because it makes her job slightly easier.

She never thought she'd be spying on the very woman she's been helping these past seven years, but fate has a way of changing things up. One moment, you're headed in one direction – the next, your path alters completely. Sil doesn't question it, and neither does she complain. She's hoping that this little trip will put some things into perspective about Felix's presence in District 1.

She's not a fool, despite her pretenses these past few years in the Capitol. She knows that Coin must be aware, at least in part, that Felix is in District 1. The man doesn't even appear to be attempting to hide himself. If Marcus, her agent who had only just arrived in the city, had seen him walking around in broad daylight, there must be something else at work. She has the distinct impression that Felix  _wants_  to be seen – that he wants her to know he is there. She can smell a trap brewing behind the scenes. Only, she's not sure if Coin is aware of it, or worse still, if she's playing some role in it as well.

After spending time with the woman, Sil isn't sure about any of the things she used to believe. Something about Coin makes her recoil. Some deep part of her doesn't trust the woman, and though it baffles her, Sil can't ignore the feeling that wrenches through her gut whenever she sees her. She's spent seven years working with the president of District 13, and so this inconsistency is a red flag that blazes upon the horizon her mind.

As she efficiently goes through her desk, Sil stumbles upon information that puts things into perspective for her, though she is not necessarily looking for it. She's quickly flicking through one of the desk drawers, where Coin had stowed a pile a paperwork, when she uncovers a report on a subject that Sil does not expect. But, though it does not contain information about Felix, she cannot stop herself from quickly scanning the page, so drawn in as she is to the headline that screams in big, bold letters,  _'Hunger Games: Operation 2.0'_

When she reaches the end of the paper, she is shocked.

Coin wants to reinstate the Hunger Games using Capitol children. She wants to keep the very practice that Sil has spent seven years of her life trying to dismantle. She is so surprised that Sil just sits there for a long moment, staring sightlessly at the room which has housed so many unspeakable horrors during Snow's reign. And she can't help but wonder – is  _this_  what she has fought for? Risked her life for? Sacrificed her identity for?

She could laugh at the way the situation has come full circle. She started doing this because of the Hunger Games, and now she will end it because of the Hunger Games. It is beautifully ironic in a way that only fate's pale hand can conjure.

Coming back to her senses, Sil puts the page down on the desk and snaps a quick photo of it with her PAAD so that she can reread it in the future. Then, putting it back, she shakes the thought away for now and continues searching for the information she came here for.

It's almost impossible to concentrate of the search with the revelation of Coin's schemes shooting warning bells through her head, but Sil forces herself to thoroughly slip through all the papers and then some. There is no information on Felix, but Sil isn't convinced that Coin doesn't know he is in District 1. She is not the only spy who works for District 13.

But she's the one who is going to end this. As she makes sure everything is where it had been before she'd come, Sil is sure of that. She now has yet another thing on her to-do list before she takes her leave of the Capitol tonight, and she doesn't much like the thought of doing it.

* * *

The rose gardens are lovely, but Sil ignores the flowers in favor of the man sitting on the bench at the center of it all, calmly watching her approach with a familiar smile.

"Miss Cornelius, what a fine sight you make in all that black armor. You look like the double-crossing spy you really are." Her unimpressed expression makes Snow chuckle and wonder, "Oh, do you prefer Mrs. Odair? You did officially marry Finnick, after all. How is your new husband these days? Enjoying his break from his usual clients?"

The question makes Sil's face harden, but she just demurely takes a seat on the bench across from him and crosses her legs.

When she doesn't readily respond, Snow shrugs, "It's an unpleasant subject, I see, but I think I should warn you that his break will most likely be short lived."

Raising an eyebrow at this, Sil humors him, "What are you implying?"

Snow doesn't answer immediately. He turns to one of the white roses that lies unassumingly on the bench beside him and raises a pair of pliers to clip the thorns from one of the stems. As he carefully does, he slowly says, "I think we both know, Miss Cornelius, that your new President intends to keep many of the old laws that kept my regime going. She was here just the other day, you know, asking me questions about – you'll never guess – the Hunger Games."

Sil's expression doesn't give anything away. She leans forward, perching an elbow on her crossed knee, and rests her chin in her hand as she stares at him.

"That's interesting to hear," is all she says. Snow chuckles at her, reading between the unspoken lines.

"Indeed. She also mentioned the Victors. She has plans for you all once she claims power." Pausing, he studies her and carefully says, "…You don't seem very surprised, Silver. I suppose you've wizened up since last we spoke. You finally see it, don't you? The corruption in her."

Sil just stares at him. Her silence is her answer. Snow smiles cruelly.

"Are you here to ask for my advice?" he inquires, turning back to cut more of the thorns from the stem of the rose. Sil watches every move he makes, memorizing the calm demeanor and what lies beneath the surface of it.

"…No," she says. It's true. She came here for one reason: to compare the two leaders. The see if the similarities between them are really as stark as they suddenly seem. The answer she has received so far is not one she likes. To be honest, it frightens her a little.

Flashing his eyes up to hers, Snow coolly asks, "Then why are you here, on the eve of my death?"

The reminder of his death has her tapping her lip thoughtfully as she stares at him.

"Felix," she muses, leaning back and throwing an arm over the back of the bench. "He abandoned you in your time of need. He's in District 1, setting up a trap for me as we speak."

The information makes Snow tilt his head with eerie calmness, watching her like a snake might watch its prey.

"Why are you telling me this?" he wonders, and Sil shrugs.

"I'm not sure," she says. "Maybe because I want you to know that I'm going to kill him."

Her words are murmured with such tranquility that even Snow looks briefly surprised. He stares at her for a moment before breaking out into laughter and shaking his head.

"He's a fool. I don't care what you do to him. Did you think I would?" he asks, smiling over at her with that familiar macabre smile. Sil smiles back.

"Hardly," is all she says, and continues studying him. It is as she does so that subtle realization crosses Snow's features. He seems to have gotten to the bottom of her rather unexpected appearance, for he chuckles again and muses, "You're comparing me with her, aren't you? Trying to decide if she is really as corrupt as you're afraid she is." He shakes his head at her as if he is pitying her and murmurs, "You know, I never would have imagined that Mr. Odair would actually fall for you, but now I see…there's something in you that makes perfect sense now. I didn't notice it before, but now that I know who you truly are…" he trails off with a peculiar look on his face, then sighs.

"Not that it matters," he tells her after a moment. "Coin will need money to rebuild the Capitol, and she is not so different from me, when it all comes down to it."

The meaning behind his words are perfectly clear to Sil, who straightens up and stares him down with a threatening look. She will not let anything happen to Finnick. She wasn't able to protect him, before, when it came to the life he was forced to live in those hotel rooms, but she will not let that happen again. Snow sees the determination in her gaze and smirks.

"Come now, Silver. Surely you see it too. Why else are you here? The game is still being played – it just has different pawns."

She smiles slowly at him and he returns it. They are on the same page, it seems, though neither of them knows what that page is, exactly. Something cuts through the air between them – a certain morbid emotion that triggers Sil into standing up and idling there for a moment.

"You might be right," she says, "but the pawns that are currently being played aren't ones Coin knows how to use. Not like you."

He nods in agreement, "Yes, you're quite right. However, a pawn is still a pawn, Miss Cornelius. With enough experience, she will play the game just like I did. I can already see it starting."

She raises an eyebrow at him and gives him her best inane, foppish grin. "Why President Snow, my dear, for once I do believe we truly understand each other." She watches his face morph into a dark smirk and matches it perfectly. "I'm not sure I'll see you again. Do enjoy your final hours on this earth."

He doesn't verbally respond – just gives her a sly look and a dismissing nod, as if he no longer has time for her. She doesn't particularly care at this point, and just spins on her heel and goes to leave. She hardly makes it several steps, though, before Snow's voice cuts through the seemingly peaceful silence of the gardens.

"…Silver," he murmurs, watching as she turns to glance at him. "If I was Coin, I wouldn't allow you to live. You're much too strong willed even for these rebels."

She looks at him thoughtfully. "I never would have imagined you'd care enough to warn me."

He just scoffs at her and coughs a little, bringing a handkerchief to his mouth and dabbing the corners of it. As he clears his throat, he hums, "On the contrary. You were always my favorite Victor. Easy to manipulate, or so I thought." He smiles at her and shrugs, "You convinced me that you were a brainless idiot. I must give credit where it's due. I never suspected even for a moment that you were the Sterling Nightingale. I applaud you."

With a theatrical turn, Silver Lamprey Cornelius bows comically and smirks, "I live to please, my dear President. Now if you'll excuse me, I have one final mission to plan."

And with that, she whirls from the rose gardens without another pause. Snow watches her go in contemplative silence before smirking and turning back to his roses. He is not so very worried about what is to come. That, as they say, is a problem for another generation.

* * *

Later that evening, Sil meets up with the other Victors while they are eating dinner. Though her day has been nothing but a series of plans being invoked using one mask after another, she has no agenda now as she takes a tray over to their table. None except an innocent desire to finish the day around people she respects and enjoys, that is.

"Hello, darlings," she chirps as she slides into a chair. As she sets her tray down, she cheerfully marvels, "What is this stuff, I wonder? It looks ghastly." She eyes the gray goop in her bowl with a dubious expression that raises a few eyebrows around the table.

"…It's porridge," Gale slowly informs her, as if he thinks she's an idiot. She catches onto his tone, of course – it would be rather hard not to – and wrinkles her nose at him.

"Porridge?" she repeats, and mutters, "Even the name sounds appalling. What's it made from?"

The entire group turns to her like she's from another planet. Her eyebrow raises ever higher.

"Seriously?" Finnick asks, clearly amused as he glances up at her from across the table. "You've never had porridge before?"

As if his question personally offends her, Sil huffs, "As if I would degrade myself to eating this slop. It looks positively horrendous."

Despite the slight twinge of frustration that flickers through him, he can't help the amused smirk from tilting his mouth up. Humor apparently wins, because after a moment Finnick just shakes his head.

"It's made out of oats," Annie chimes in, as if the explanation will help. It doesn't. Sil just eyes it dubiously like she thinks she's being lied to and scoffs.

"Well, I hope it tastes better than it looks," she mutters, and scoops a bit of it onto her spoon. They all watch in amusement when she immediately makes a disgusted face upon trying it.

Johanna snickers at her expense and pushes a bowl of sugar towards her.

"You have to add sugar, sugar," Finnick smirks, no doubt amused by his play on words. She gives him an imperious look, to which he laughs and gestures for her to do as he says. Still thinking he's trying to get one over on her, Sil narrows her eyes at him as she takes the sugar bowl. Finnick just watches with his chin propped up in his hand, finding her suspicion of him funny.

"I can't believe you've never had porridge before," Gale tells her with a doubtful expression. "I mean, who hasn't had  _porridge?"_

He glances around the table as if he's hoping for a broader explanation of this strange phenomena, but no one has one to give.

"Well, it's more of a breakfast thing, to be fair," Peeta inputs with a shrug, to which Sil gives him a sideways glance and frowns.

"Who on earth would eat this for breakfast?" she demands, stirring sugar into her bowl with aristocratic horror. "How utterly primitive! If you ever come to my estate in District 1, Peeta darling, Hale will whip you up the best breakfast you've ever eaten."

Baffled, Peeta inquires, "Hale?"

Sil takes a sip of water and chimes, "The head of house at my estate. He runs everything. He does a fabulous job, you know – and he makes superb pancakes."

She thinks nothing of her little speech, at least outwardly, though inside she's smirking with amusement at Peeta's continued bafflement.

"Head of house? What's that?" he's never heard the term before. Maybe it's a District 1 thing.

Sil looks at him in perfect dismay – though her eyes twinkle a bit around the edges – and says in disbelief, "Oh Peeta, I insist you come visit me the first moment you can. I will educate you on everything you've missed out on, don't worry." She leans over to pat his hand pityingly and adds, "You poor darling."

Across the table, Finnick rolls his eyes and tells her, "Sil, you're doing it again."

With a mask of flawless bewilderment, she turns to him and asks, "Doing what, my love?"

The familiar pet name makes him pause, for a brief moment, eyes flashing subtly as he looks upon her. He's not entirely sure she said it on purpose, considering her frequent usage of the phrase, but he's got a feeling it was done deliberately. The way her eyes flash right back at him tells him that he is right.

Instead of bringing attention to it, though, Finnick just purses his mouth in slight humor and responds, "You're spinning him in circles." He glances at Peeta and says, "I've been there dozens of times. I know how it feels."

Sil just simpers at him. To her amusement, Finnick simpers right back.

With a  _humph_ , Sil murmurs, "Gracious, what a thing to say. Besides, spinning  _you_  in circles is far more appealing to me, Finnick darling." She sends him a seemingly innocent smile, but Finnick's days of overlooking her subtle insinuations are long over. He smirks at her from across the table and leans in, staring her down with an almost predatory look gleaming through his eyes.

"Is that so?" he wonders.

Sil shivers slightly at the tone of his voice. He looks like he's about to jump over the damn table, not that she would mind terribly if he did. Fortunately – or not – he doesn't get the chance, because Johanna grunts in disgust and snarks at Sil, "I'm losing my appetite and you've only been here a matter of minutes."

Her grumpy words make Sil smirk as she raises a spoonful of porridge to her mouth. With no shortage of amusement, she returns with an equally staunch, "Johanna, you've no idea how many times I've wanted to punch you these past seven years."

Her sudden admission, delivered with such honesty, makes Johanna immediately start coughing in surprise as she swallows her food wrong. The rest of the table is also caught off guard, though unlike Johanna, laughter is their initial reaction.

"Right back at you," Johanna replies hoarsely, reaching for her water. Sil snickers and takes a bite of her porridge, only to make a disgusted face as she dumps the spoon back into her bowl.

"Gracious, you'd think these rebels would offer more food choices," she mutters in complaint, glancing around at the soldiers in the tent. When she sees the familiar face of Cassius, she lights up and says, "Excuse me, my loves."

She appears at Cassius's side once again that day, no doubt taking the poor man off guard yet again as she slides onto the bench beside him. To their surprise, though, she doesn't exchange flirty words with him – as far as they can tell anyway. Her face flickers with a serious light as she inquires into something, and Cassius gives her a little nod. In response, she sends him a beaming smile and plants a kiss right on his cheek, much the amusement of his fellow soldiers – and the embarrassment of himself. As Cassius's face explodes into a deep red blush, Sil gives him a mischievous smile before darting back to her table and reclaiming her seat as if the entire event never happened.

Katniss just raises an eyebrow at her behavior, but Sil doesn't seem to notice. She does, of course, but she remains silent on the matter until Johanna drawls, "Well?"

Glancing up idly, Sil asks, "Well what?"

Johanna rolls her eyes at her. "Well what have you been doing to that poor boy all day? I saw you earlier at lunch, too. What did he agree to do for you?"

Johanna is apparently a little more observant than Sil originally thought. She looks at her thoughtfully for a long moment before shrugging and responding with a breezy, "I'm afraid I can't tell you that, Johanna."

With a look of disbelief, Johanna looks around the table for support. Her eyes land on Finnick. "You're just gonna let your girlfriend go around cozying up to soldiers? Aren't you curious?"

Before Finnick can reply, Sil rolls her eyes and says in a far more serious manner, "I'm hardly  _cozying up_  to soldiers. I'm merely taking advantage of what little resources I currently have. I have something I need to deal with and it cannot wait."

There is something solemn to her words and her countenance. Something that makes them all study this new version of her with unveiled fascination. Everyone but Finnick, who just shrugs and adds, "Besides, Sil isn't my girlfriend."

The table falls silent at what sounds to be an adamant refusal – until Finnick glances over at the woman in question and finishes, "She's my wife. Everyone seems to forget about that. Maybe I should stake my claim."

His eyes flash at her with such fire that Sil feels herself blush a little. She jolts into a straighter position, clears her throat, and turns to her meal to earnestly shove a spoonful of porridge into her mouth, hoping it will give her an excuse to avoid responding. Gracious. What a set of words. For his part, Finnick looks very amused at her silent response. He chuckles lowly at her and Johanna grunts again in annoyance.

"You two are gross," she says, rolling her eyes. "I mean, I thought you were bad before, but now I think you might be ten time worse."

Finnick just smirks at Johanna's words and shrugs, taking a sip of his water and peering at Sil over the rim of his glass. She gives him a thoroughly unimpressed look, but he can see the blatant crease of desire blazing through her eyes, and it makes him crazy.

"What  _are_  you up to, anyway?" Gale asks Sil after a moment of silence. She looks slightly relieved at the subject change and happily turns away from Finnick's gaze, which is making her feel like she's combusting right where she sits. Gracious – she's never felt the full force of his sex appeal directed at her with such strength before. It's dizzying.

With a purse of her lips, she responds, "I'm not  _up to_  anything, Hawthorne."

Gale raises an eyebrow in challenge and insists, "You're planning something, and since I know you a little better now, I have a feeling it's something slightly insane."

Well, he's right on that account. It is slightly insane. But Sil just rests her chin in her hand and stirs her porridge idly as she peers over at him with purposefully lazy eyes.

"I have no idea what you mean, Gale," she says. The corner of her mouth twitches. "If you're referring to the riots in Districts 1 and 2, though, I can assure you, I'll have everything under control soon enough. It just takes a little…mm, directing."

Her vague wording makes Katniss bluntly ask, "Directing what, exactly?"

In response, Sil shrugs, "My agents, of course. They're en route as we speak, and then I'll have more information about what's happening."

"You mean with your father?" Peeta inquires, looking at her carefully in case he said something he shouldn't have.

But Sil just blankets her expression with meticulous vacancy and breezily responds, "Yes…my father." Something about her tone doesn't fit with the rest of the puzzle, though.

She shrugs. "In any case, I'm sure by tomorrow I'll have a stronger network to rely on. Never fear, darlings. I'm fairly good at getting the information I need."

She pauses then, and slowly glances over at Katniss, chewing over her words before carefully saying, "Katniss…Coin will be calling a meeting tomorrow. When she does, I advise you to go against your instincts."

Her green eyes flash with serious thoughtfulness into Katniss's, who looks at her like she's got two heads. "What?" she asks, completely thrown off guard by Sil's sudden advice.

In a quiet voice that doesn't reach beyond their table, Sil leans in and murmurs, "Listen Katniss, you'll only have one opportunity. If you make the wrong choice, nothing will change, do you understand? Everything we've done – the sacrifices we've all made – they'll be for nothing."

Her words are clearly confusing everyone at the table, who all stare at her with varying degrees of bewilderment. Finnick frowns and asks, "What are you talking about, Sil?"

She glances over at him briefly before turning back to Katniss. It's the Girl on Fire whose decision will matter most. It's her arrow that will pave the way into the future.

"…I'm sorry I can't be any clearer," Sil tells her. "It isn't safe. Just know that it is  _your decision_  that will bring the change we need." She nods at her as if she's trying to tell her something without using words. Katniss has no idea what, though. Sil just smiles at her and stands up.

As she grabs her tray Gale slowly says, "You've hardly eaten anything. Aren't you hungry?"

Sil makes a face at him. "I think it would be best if I ate later. This poor excuse of a meal is making me nauseous."

She takes her tray and flashes the table a smile before turning and depositing it by the other empty ones. Finnick watches her every movement as she disappears from the tent. He just can't shake the feeling that something is about to go terribly wrong. Her solemn warning doesn't help, despite the fact that none of them know what said warning has to do with. All Finnick knows is that for some reason, it feels like she's walking away for good.

It feels like a goodbye.

And when he wakes up the next morning to see a note shoved under his door, he realizes that he'd been right. In Sil's flourishing cursive are the three words he's been craving to hear since she'd said them with that addictive boldness in the streets of the Capitol. Words that pop out from the page with fierce honesty, signed with the familiar icon of the Nightingale – a black bird in mid flight. Except when he reads them, the relief and joy he should feel is not there. Instead, there is only a startling wave of concern that seems to sweep through his body like an inferno of blistering fire – the likes of which has no cure.

For, as he soon discovers, Sil is gone, and Tommy and Aurelian with her. And he has a fairly good idea as to where they went: the riotous streets of her home district, where hers is a face that will not be quickly overlooked…nor forgiven.

_I love you, Finnick._

_Always._

_\- S_

* * *

"Are you ready, Silver?" Aurelian murmurs as they travel to the desert of their home.

Sil shares a brief look with Tommy, who gives her a nod, and she sets her shoulders back and responds, "Yes."

She's been preparing for this her whole life.

She's ready.


	56. And an icy ocean all in one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Finnick finds his way to District 1, and Felix ruins his plans of finding the woman he loves.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy, and I'll see you all on Friday with the next update!

 

**Chapter Fifty Six | And an icy ocean all in one**

" _I would still exert every faculty I possess for his sake; but I might be powerfulness, for I might arrive too late, and nothing would be left for you but lifelong remorse, and…and…for me, a broken heart." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

Mr. Dorsey gets a rude awakening in the early hours of morning from the last person he expects. In all fairness, he  _should_  probably expect it. Finnick Odair, Victor from District 4, has been head over heels for the Sil since before he even realized who the girl is. It's still a little annoying to be pulled out of a peaceful sleep by a man having a full-blown panic attack though.

"Where is she?!" the Victor demands immediately, barging into Dorsey's room and shaking him awake quite unapologetically. Dorsey takes one sleepy look at him, rolls his eyes, and pulls his blankets up to his chin in a pathetic attempt to ignore him. It doesn't work, not that he's all that surprised.

"Dorsey, where is Silver?" Finnick insistently asks. There is an edge of frantic hysteria driving through his voice. It certainly isn't a pleasant wake up call.

With a grunt, Dorsey mutters, "Where'dya think?" He starts to roll over, but Finnick grabs his shoulder and slams him back. The move makes Dorsey blinks in annoyance and sit up, sleepy eyes turning angry.

"She's in District 1. She left last night. Happy?" he demands impatiently.

Finnick doesn't look very shocked at this revelation. No doubt he'd already suspected as much. When he found her note and rushed to her room to look for her, his nerves had been on fire. There was something permanent about her message, as if she believed it would be the only chance she'd get to tell him what he's been longing to hear. When he hadn't found her in her borrowed room or anywhere else he could think to look inside and outside the manor, Finnick had rushed here to Dorsey's room to interrogate the man, but inside he already knows that Sil would not be here. There is only one place she could have gone.

"She's going to get herself killed!" Finnick exclaims frantically, starting to pace across the room with a worried expression blazing across his face. Dorsey just sighs and stares at him, looking unimpressed and tired.

"You need to relax, kid," he mumbles, throwing his legs over the edge of the mattress and rubbing at his eyes. "Sil knows what she's doing. Have a little faith."

Having faith, though, is not such an easy thing to do when the woman you love has dived headfirst into the squalor of a riotous district intent on ending anyone loyal to the rebellion. Silver Lamprey Cornelius is quite well known there, more so after her identity as the Sterling Nightingale – rebel spy extraordinaire – had come out only weeks before.

She's in danger. If they realize who she is, she's done for. It's one person against an entire city.

When he says this aloud, though, Dorsey rolls his eyes, "She's not alone. Half the League is with her, and Tommy too. She's hatched some insane plan to stay one step ahead. Felix won't know what's coming to him."

In his sleep addled brain, the final sentence leaves his lips without thought or care. He forgets, for a moment, that Finnick doesn't know about Felix's location. He doesn't know that the man had been sighted in District 1. Cussing darkly beneath his breath as the Victor turns to him with eyes that are even more frantic, Dorsey sighs. Him and his big mouth.

" _Felix?!"_  Finnick asks, voice riddled with angry confusion. "Are you telling me that Felix is in District 1?"

The stilted silence that drags between them at the query only serves to answer Finnick's question, and the Victor runs his hands through his hair as he starts pacing again.

"Do you even know what that man's done to her over the years?" Finnick challenges, turning to Dorsey with upset, panicked eyes.

Though Finnick had come rather late to the game, as it were, he's well aware of the advances Felix has made towards Sil since she had become a Victor. He'd noticed before he ever really talked to Sil, though at the time he hadn't given much thought to the sinister mind games being played. For seven years, Felix has been lurking around Sil's periphery. This cannot end well.

Dorsey stares at him and slowly says, "She has a plan, Finnick. I trust her to get it done."

Finnick turns to catch his eye and the two men stare each other down in unwavering silence, as if they are measuring the other up. It takes but a moment for Finnick to straighten his shoulders, lift his head, and say in a staunch voice, "I'm going after her."

It takes  _less_  than a moment for Dorsey to burst into laughter.

"You've got to be kidding me," the older man chuckles, shaking his head as if he thinks this entire situation is a complete joke. "You can't be serious!"

When he looks over at Finnick's face, though, it's pretty damned clear that the Victor is  _very_  serious. Dorsey frowns at him, his laughter drying up as quickly as it had come.

"Do you know how much time Sil spent planning her entrance into District 1? And you just want to waltz right in, undisguised? The moment you're seen, people are gonna kill you, and then I'll have to explain to Sil why the man she loves is dead," Dorsey grinds out, but Finnick hears only the last few words of his little monologue.

_The man she loves…_

What a beautiful set of words.

Finnick grins and crosses his arms, staring at Dorsey with an expectant expression. "Look, Dorsey, you can either help me get a disguise so I can go after her, or you can do nothing and watch me stumble my way into unknown territory. It's your choice, but I  _am_  going to District 1." His staunch words make Dorsey groan and rub his eyes again, this time with frustration.

With an annoyed snap, Dorsey mutters, "Fine." He goes to pull on a shirt so that he's at least decent, though he doesn't bother changing his sweatpants or making himself look any more presentable. He's too damned tired to deal with such inclinations so early in the morning.

With a grumbled curse, he gestures for Finnick to follow him into the hall.

"Come on then, lover boy," he mutters.

He's getting too old for this shit.

* * *

 

It takes about an hour to retrieve a few items from his shop and return to the manor. Once he gets there, Dorsey meets Finnick in the Victor's room and throws an outfit his way. Finnick holds it up, eyeing the slate gray suit in interest as he wonders, "What's this?"

Dorsey grunts, "It's a uniform worn by the workers of the Factory in District 1."

Fascinated by the disguise, Finnick hums and thoughtfully pulls it on, buttoning it up and glancing over at Dorsey. The man is laying out what looks like make-up, much to Finnick surprise. He's spent enough time as the Capitol Daydream to have worn plenty of make-up in his day, but he's a little caught off guard to see it now, of all times.

Dorsey flourishes a hand towards him, gesturing for him to come closer, and starts smearing his face with gray powder. His method is random and a little rough, but Finnick doesn't complain. As he unevenly dirties Finnick's face, Dorsey says, "Listen up. You work in the engine room. You're a mechanic. You're pissed that the rebels are occupying the Capitol. How's your District 1 accent?"

Finnick flounders a little at the question. "Uh…"

Dorsey rolls his eyes. "Practice on the train," he grunts, and then proceeds to launch into a lengthy speech about Finnick's fake life in District 1 and all that it entails.

"You live in the south end of the city. You've got a wife and a kid on the way – you're worried about what this rebellion will do to your family. Yeah? How worried are you?"

Faltering again, Finnick throws him a confused look and shrugs, "I guess I'm really worried?"

His feeble response makes Dorsey pause, give him an unimpressed glower, and roll his eyes. "You really suck at this, you know that?"

Finnick twists his mouth in agreement and murmurs, "Why do I have to memorize all this? I'm going to find Sil, that's it. I know where she lives, I've been there before."

The question makes Dorsey sigh. When he responds, he sounds impatient and frustrated. "How do you think the Sterling Nightingale has been so successful at staying hidden?" When Finnick raises an eyebrow at the sudden query, Dorsey swiftly says, "She knows how to play her part, you idiot. The first moment she arrived in District 1, she became a Factory worker. Here in the Capitol, she  _became_  a Capitolite. Are you seeing a pattern here?"

Finnick grunts and mutters, "Yeah, yeah. I get it."

Dorsey stares at him for a long moment, looking even more unimpressed than before, and grinds out, "You know what, just keep quiet the entire time and let  _me_  do the talking."

At this, Finnick looks up in shock, having not expected that he would have company to District 1 – especially not in the form of Dorsey. But the older man just raises an eyebrow at him, slaps some more make-up over Finnick's face, and mutters, "You really think I'm gonna let you walk into a trap by yourself? Sil would have my head if I let anything happen to you, pretty boy."

Finnick just chuckles at the thought. A few months ago, he would have never been able to imagine such a thing, but now…

Everything has changed – everything.

Dorsey comes up with a plan to get them out of the manor and to the train station as he throws on a gaudy looking suit and ties a navy cravat around his neck. He looks ridiculously pompous – almost comically so, considering his mussed up hair and sleepy eyes – but Finnick recalls the fashion in District 1 and knows that Dorsey will fit right in.

"How did Sil get out of the manor, anyway?" Finnick idly asks as he watches Dorsey straighten the clothes over his frame.

He can already picture the older man walking through the wealthy streets of District 1, blending right in with the rest of the aristocratically inclined citizens. It's a little uncanny, to be honest. If he hadn't already spent time in the district during his 'romantic' getaway with Sil all those months before, Dorsey's outfit would look exceedingly absurd.

As Dorsey fiddles with the cravat around his neck, he explains, "Cassius. That soldier she's been flirting with? She 'borrowed' a some of his uniforms and acted as a rebel soldier so she could make her way through the city."

At this, Finnick can't stop the laugh that tumbles from his lip. "And he  _fell_  for that? Seriously?"

His disbelief just makes Dorsey smirk over his shoulder at him. His next words shut Finnick up pretty fast as he drawls, "Please. The boy was practically drooling over her this whole time. He would've dropped his pants right then and there if she asked him to."

The crass wording makes Finnick frown at him and shift uncomfortably. With a scowl, he mutters, "I would have punched him in the face."

Dorsey smirks wider at the sound of overprotective jealousy scorching through Finnick's voice and laughs, "You and me both, kid. Now come on, before the rest of the manor wakes up."

Finnick stands up, but before he can reply, his door bursts open and the Girl on Fire strides in quickly and with singular purpose. Of course, the moment her eyes land on the pair of them, her purpose fades into baffled confusion.

"…What are you wearing?" is the first question out of her mouth as she eyes Finnick's smudged face and colorless uniform. He looks nothing like himself. She raises an eyebrow at him.

Finnick hesitates and glances over at Dorsey, who is also at a bit of a loss.

"Uh…"

Katniss crosses her arms. "You're going to District 1, aren't you."

The fact that she can so easily decipher this latest puzzle makes Finnick sigh and shove his hands into his pockets. He shrugs at her and she rolls her eyes.

Dorsey mutters, "He'll be fine. I'm going with him. Don't tell anyone, Fire Girl."

He smirks at his own misuse of her nickname and Katniss's expression turns impatient.

"You'd better leave soon. Coin's calling a meeting and she wants all the Victors to be there. That's why I'm here," Katniss explains, deciding to ignore Dorsey in favor of being as brief as possible.

Sil's warning from the night before suddenly careens into Finnick's mind. He looks over at Katniss and frowns. "I guess Sil was right. Do you know what the meeting is about?"

The girl just shrugs. "No idea. I just came to tell you about it, but I guess you won't be sticking around anyway."

Dorsey, who's in the middle of throwing a few things into a satchel, looks up and says, "Sil found something in Coin's office yesterday. She looked pretty concerned about it, though she didn't tell me what it was."

At this, Katniss whirls to face him and asks in surprise, "What was Sil doing in Coin's office?"

The question makes Dorsey snicker. He spears her with a sharp glance and drawls, "What do you think? Taking a fucking nap? She's a  _spy_ , Everdeen. Do the math."

Katniss glares at his tone but doesn't respond. Instead she just says, "The meeting's in an hour. You might want to be out of here by then." And with that, she stalks back out of the room and shuts the door behind her as if the entire conversation never happened.

Finnick glances at Dorsey and shrugs. "She's a bit of a firecracker, if you haven't noticed."

Dorsey just grunts in agreement.

"Let's just get out of here," is all he says in response, and holds the door open for Finnick.

As they smuggle themselves out of the manor and make their way to the train station, Dorsey can only pray that Sil doesn't bite his head off the moment she realizes that Finnick has followed her right into danger.

* * *

 

Unlike the maintained order forced upon the Capitol with an army of rebel soldiers, District 1 is in utter disarray. Its citizens are in an uproar, and their frantic squalor and panic only breeds more mayhem. The moment Finnick and Dorsey arrive at the station and step out into the chaos, they are thrown directly into the pandemonium of loyalist residents who look quite different from what Finnick remembers during his last visit.

Gone is the posh, aristocratic drivel that he recalls had frequently dominated common conversation. In its place is the frantic fury of citizens who wish for anarchy over the new form of government being instated in the Capitol at this very moment. Instead of polished men and women roaming the streets, dressed in flamboyant fashions copied from the Capitol and arms heavy with shopping bags, the people run about in a panic, shouting obscenities about the rebel army and causing even more of an uproar than before.

Finnick feels at once out of his depth. He's grateful when Dorsey grabs his arm and drags him off, taking the lead through the riotous streets. He's grateful for another reason, too. Before, during his brief visit to District 1, he had Sil to guide him through the city. She had driven him right up to her manor in her fancy car, bypassing these roads and streets as easily as any local. She could probably navigate through this city with her eyes closed. Without a guide, Finnick would probably get lost amid the maze of this place. It is so very different from District 4.

The similarities to the Capitol are irrefutable. Skyscrapers line the horizon and tower above him even now with slate grey affluence. The streets a full of people. District 1 is the most populated district after the Capitol. These people are so wealthy that they've never needed to worry about population growth, unlike in District 4, where poorer families often have to choose between having more children and feeding the ones they've already got.

The familiar sense of repugnant dislike filters through Finnick as he and Dorsey traipse through the city. He stares at the outraged citizens like they're aliens – and indeed, the analogy is not so very far from the truth. They prance around like angry peacocks with bright feathers stuck in their hats and bemoan those 'demmed filthy rebels' like it's the only thing they know how to do.

It's easy to see why they're so upset, though. District 1 is the pampered offspring of the Capitol. The primary reason this city is so wealthy is because it is the trading hub of Panem. The Capitol citizens would surely never survive without the luxuries that District 1 provides them. Everything from air conditioning units to silk scarves are produced here – specifically at the Factory, which Finnick can see even now as it raises up in the distance like an iridescent beacon. The huge skyscraper towers over all others like a mirrored monument, blinding anyone who looks upon it with reflected rays of the bright desert sun. He wonders what will become of this place once the war is well and truly over.

"This way," Dorsey tells him, breaking into his trance with a sharp pull on his arm. The man leads him down a small alleyway that spits them back out onto yet another street. This one is slightly calmer, but there seems to be no escape from the bedazzled, irate citizens who riot through the anarchical city.

"How long will it take to get to Sil's estate?" Finnick quietly asks, keeping his head down lest one of these pampered residents sees through his disguise. He doesn't remember, precisely, how long it took Sil to drive there, but he knows that her property is located on the edge of the city. He remembers looking out of one of the windows and seeing only sand and cacti stretching out like a sea before him, with no sign of civilization in sight.

At his side, Dorsey grunts, "At this rate, a good hour. This is a huge city and we can't very well hire a cab."

The sarcastic lilt of Dorsey's voice is obvious, but Finnick ignores it to instead murmur, "There's got to a faster way – a shortcut?"

But Dorsey just shakes his head and gestures for him to keep following. There is no shortcut. They can only keep to their current path and hope they are not too late.

But, when the long street opens up into a type of shopping district which is overcrowded with citizens who are gathered around a large podium at its center, their journey is put on hold.

"What's going on here?" Dorsey mutters, almost to himself, as they slow down and watch the proceedings. It seems they've arrived just in time. A tall figure is stepping up to the podium, and when he raises up his hands, the crowd falls silent in anticipation.

It takes Finnick a moment to recognize the man at this distance, but when he does, fury spikes through him in earnest. He glares at the man with hateful reproach and hisses, "Felix," just as the man taps the mic and says in a loud voice that carries over the crowd, "Citizens of District 1 – my friends! Let us suffer no more at the hands of these rebel soldiers! We must rise above them before they can inflict their revolutionary agenda upon our society! Our entire way of life is at stake. What are we going to do about that?"

In response, the crowd leers out more obscenities regarding the rebels. Their voices carry over the space with riotous anger.

Dorsey grabs Finnick and steps back into the shadows of a nearby building as they linger to hear Felix speak.

"We need the Capitol to survive! Without President Snow, we are ruined! Total anarchy would be better than being ruled over by these self-righteous rebels from District 13!" Felix raises a fist to the eager crowd and yells, "I invite you to join my cause to reclaim the Capitol and bring back our  _real_  President!  _Are you with me?"_

As the crowd cheers, Finnick glances warily at Dorsey and mutters, "I can't believe Coin isn't doing anything about this. Felix has taken over control of this place. He could ruin the entire rebellion."

Dorsey hums low in his throat, agreeing completely. In a quiet voice, he whispers, "The good news is that if Felix is out here giving this ridiculous speech, he doesn't know that Sil is in the district too. Come on, we should move on before we're seen."

But Finnick lingers. He can't look away from Felix. This sight of that horrid man inciting such wrath in this crowd makes him sick to his stomach. He can't wait to wring that scrawny neck – for the sake of Panem, and for Sil.

As if Felix is somehow aware of Finnick's stare, his gaze sweeps out suddenly to the far reaches of the crowd. It takes less than a moment for him to lock eyes with Finnick, and then…

There is no disguise in the world that could hide Finnick Odair, Daydream of the Capitol, from Felix, who has spent his life around the Victors.

Felix's eyes narrow. Finnick stiffens and ducks after Dorsey quickly, but it is far too late. It takes less than a moment for Felix to lift up his communicator and inform the closest guards to apprehend him, and Finnick barely even makes it to the other side of the large courtyard before he's being grabbed and pulled into handcuffs.

"Finnick Odair," Felix's voice crackles over the podium's microphone. In horror, Finnick vaguely sees Dorsey stop and turn, lingering out of sight in the rest of the crowd as he watches the proceeding with wide, anxious eyes.

As Finnick is dragged through the crowd, Felix laughs and leans forward, voice carrying to everyone gathered in the courtyard, "What a lovely surprise. If you're here, then I suppose the Sterling Nightingale is also somewhere in District 1.  _Let's find her!"_

The crowd immediately obeys, hurtling themselves into action as they form mobs to hunt down the woman Finnick has accidentally put in danger. He could hit himself for being such a fool. He can only hope that Sil has already accomplished what she needed to do, and that he hasn't just made the situation ten times worse.

Though, as Felix claps him on the back and pushes him towards a waiting black limousine, Finnick has a terrible feeling that he could very well be wrong.

Of course, had he been a bit more observant, and the crowd a bit less wild, Finnick might have seen the flicker of a familiar face in the distance as narrowed green eyes watch his every move from amidst the squalor of wayward chaos.

The Sterling Nightingale taps at her earpiece and murmurs calmly, "Tommy, there's been a slight change of plans…"

She watches the car slowly pull out onto the crowded street as the mob around her shouts, "Down with the rebels! Down with the Nightingale!"

As the crowd swallows her up on their way to search for the one person who is already in their midst, Sil raises a fist and joins in, yelling, "Down with the Nightingale!" alongside them.

With her hair carefully dyed a shade of brownish auburn and her Factory uniform blending in with many others of its kind, Silver Lamprey Cornelius looks nothing like herself. She looks as perfectly nondescript as ever, and she has no intention of changing that any time soon.

No – until Finnick Odair is safe, and his captor in chains, she will remain only as the Sterling Nightingale, and no other.


	57. Even Poseidon would have trouble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Felix makes use of the Cornelius estate and deals with a problem that's been hounding him for seven long years.
> 
> I borrowed some dialogue from the 1934 movie adaptation of The Scarlet Pimpernel for this chapter, just to give credit where it's owed. On that note, I will leave this author's note short and sweet, as this chapter speaks for itself.

 

**Chapter Fifty Seven | Even Poseidon would have trouble**

" _For that person, fair lady, will be the man whom I have sought for, for nearly a year, the man whose energy has outdone me, whose ingenuity has baffled me, whose audacity has set me wondering – yes! Me! – who have seen a trick of two in my time – the mysterious and elusive Scarlet Pimpernel." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

As Felix's fancy black limousine heads off towards the edge of the city, the streets become less populated and more familiar to Finnick. He vaguely remembers some of the landmarks they pass. Gemma Cornelius's old shop, the little café Sil and him had stepped into – the small grassy park with the gazebo they had eaten beneath on that hot summer day.

He stares at it as they slowly drive past. He can almost imagine the pair of them sitting beneath the boughs of it in their little slice of shade, passing the water bottle back and forth as Sil excitably regales him of the latest Capitol gossip. She had been so thoroughly insipid back then, playing her part to the letter, that he truly had no idea who she truly was. He wonders briefly if it had been difficult for her, to cast herself into the light of the idiot she had pretended to be. It surely hadn't been easy to keep the act up for seven years.

"Two birds with one stone," Felix smirks from across the car. He's watching Finnick closely, a large smirk painted upon his face as he eyes the Victor. Finnick eyes him back with no shortage of distaste as Felix drawls, "Not only have I successfully seized control of District 1, but I'm also about to catch the Sterling Nightingale – thanks to your contemptible affection for that girl."

Finnick raises an amused eyebrow and challenges, "Contemptible? That's funny, coming from you."

His words make Felix smile tightly at him and shrug. "I'll admit that I did find Silver attractive, once, but the only desire I have towards her now is to see her dead by my hands."

Finnick stares at him darkly. The look only makes Felix chuckle, but he ignores the Victor as he tells the driver to stop the car. Finnick glances around, only to see that they have reached the beginning of a long driveway. The imposing structure of the Cornelius estate rises up at the end of it, some miles down. The sun is fading slowly from the sky, its downward descent bringing with it the beginnings of the desert dusk. It is not yet dark enough to warrant turning on any of the lights in the estate, but Finnick can already imagine the delicate ambiance that the manor will embrace once night falls.

Felix rolls down his window and gestures at the car behind them. One of his men quickly gets out and arrives at Felix's window, bending slightly so that they are eye-level.

"Take the other car and go on ahead. Signal if all is well," he tells the man, who responds with a soldierly nod and a barking, "Yes, sir."

The soldier clamors back into the other car and Finnick watches as it cuts around their own before pulling onto the long driveway lined with decorative palm trees and desert flowers.

"You won't win, you know," Finnick says with more courage than he currently feels. He doesn't look away from the car in front of them, even as it pulls to a stop outside the large house and the soldiers begin to enter the building with their guns at the ready.

On the other side of the car, Felix just hums in disinterest, "Perhaps I won't regain control of the Capitol, but I will see Sil dead before this night is through."

There is truly nothing to say to that, so Finnick just clenches his jaw and sits in silence, waiting anxiously for the signal that the soldiers are supposed to send. He isn't sure if he wants to see it or not. What will it bring? What will it mean? He prays that Sil is not there – that Gemma isn't, either. He has to swallow back a wave of fear, feeling his palms turn sweaty as the adrenaline courses through his veins. He wasn't expecting this turn of events, but he should have known that it wouldn't be this easy. Nothing ever is.

Finally, after nearly ten minutes of sitting in agonizing silence, the large double doors of the manor are pushed open to reveal one of the soldiers, who waves his hand at the waiting car. Finnick's heart nearly beats out of his chest at the sight.

"The signal, sir," one of Felix's remaining soldier says. There are only a handful of them left, as the majority of men had gone on ahead to secure the building. Felix turns to look at the soldier thoughtfully.

After a moment, he orders, "You and your men wait here. Keep away any citizens who might wander over, and inform me of anything out of the ordinary." Once the soldier nods his understanding, Felix turns to the driver and says, "Carry on, then."

The driver puts the car into gear and begins winding down the long driveway to where the other car awaits. The closer they get to the mansion, the more Finnick's heart pounds anxiously against his rib cage.

By the time the car pulls up behind the other one in front of the large doors, Finnick rather feels as though he is in a sort of dreamworld. His body moves on its own as he exits the car, hands still in cuffs. The soldier waiting at the doors follows Felix and him inside. The foyer, in all its glory, spans out to greet him.

The last time he had stood beneath the stained glass ceiling, Finnick had forced himself to kiss Sil's cheek before taking his leave. He had been eager to leave District 1 as soon as possible and to be rid of this desert hell and all the trappings of his fake relationship with the foppish Victor. It's funny how now, as he glances around the rich mahogany furnishings and the dazzling ceiling above him, his heart has changed so very much. He will certainly not have to force a kiss upon Sil the next time he sees her. There will be no room for the pretenses they once endured.

His eyes cut over to the imposing Cornelius family crest. He can't stop the edge of his mouth from turning upward at the sight of the swooping black bird entangled with three snakes. Once, he assumed the bird to be a simple crow. How wrong he was back then – how blind!

The puzzle that had eluded him for so long has been cast off, but as he stares up at the family crest, it feels like he's looking at everything from a new light once more. There were so many hints, so many breadcrumbs he could have followed, had he been the least bit suspicious of Sil. But Dorsey had been right, when he said how Sil becomes her role, and he had completely missed it back then amidst her flowery speech and dramatic gestures.

Dorsey. The thought of the man makes concern roil through Finnick. Hopefully he made it to safety. Or better yet, managed to find Sil and tell her to stay far away from here.

Felix turns to the soldier at his side and says, "Wait here and guard the door."

The soldier gives him a staunch nod before Felix turns to the remainder of his men. They number nearly a dozen as they stand like industrial sentinels amidst the rich elegance of the Cornelius foyer, so out of place here in this world that belongs to Sil.

"Come," Felix tells them, and turns to grab Finnick's arm as he pulls him along down the hallway that Sil had painted, once upon a time, with careful hands. They don't go very far down the red poppy hall before they stop at a door. Finnick recognizes it as one of the many sitting rooms that litter the lower level of the estate. He's spent enough time exploring the place during his brief visit with Sil, fascinated with the grand size of the manor despite his shortcomings concerning the blatant displays of wealth.

"Now," Felix muses as he opens the door, "you will wait in here while I play host to our expected guest."

He leads Finnick into the room. The moment the Victor steps inside, a familiar voice gasps, "Finnick! What the devil are you doing here?" And, shocked, though he perhaps shouldn't be, Finnick looks up and straight into the eyes of Gemma Cornelius.

"Gemma!" Finnick exclaims, stepping toward the older man. Gemma is not handcuffed as Finnick is, but he  _is_  tied to one of the ornate chairs at the center of the room, looking entirely annoyed at the prospect of being taken hostage in his own home. Something flickers in his eyes though, when he peers up at Finnick. There is no fear in his gaze, and Finnick is unsure if the old man is really just that brave, or if he does not yet understand the true purpose of Felix's presence among them.

"Sil is not going to be happy that you're here," Gemma sighs, only for Felix to chuckle as he hears the words.

"Oh, on the contrary, Mr. Cornelius," he drawls as several of his men enter the room to guard them. "I think she'll be glad to have the chance to properly say goodbye to him before I send her to her death."

Gemma frowns at him and angrily spouts, "My daughter will not be going to her death today, sir. Not if I have anything to say on the matter."

But Felix just laughs again and doesn't grace him with a response. Apparently, he's got better things to do than humor an old man. He spears a glance over at Finnick and says, "One wrong move, and I've given my men permission to kill you. Don't make me regret using you as bait and not just killing you off right now."

Finnick shoots him a dark glare that looks rather fearsome even in his current state, but Felix is already on his way out the door to, as he puts it, 'wait for their guest'. Finnick hopes she doesn't come, but he's got a feeling that the Sterling Nightingale wouldn't abandon him or her father in their time of need.

Bait, indeed. They are the best bait that Felix could ask for.

With a morose, hopeless look on his face, Finnick sits down on the sofa, awkwardly trying to get comfortable with his hands tied behind his back, and mumbles, "I'm sorry you got involved in this, Gemma. It's all my fault."

But Gemma Cornelius just raises an amicable brow at him and says in his posh District 1 accent, "Don't be ridiculous, Finnick. I'm quite sure we'll be perfectly safe."

And – perhaps he's going crazy, but there's something in Gemma's voice that confuses Finnick, for it almost sounds like the man knows something he doesn't. When he sends him an inquiring glance, though, Gemma just cheerfully adds, "My daughter is very clever, my boy."

Finnick sighs and agrees, "Yeah, so I've noticed."

'Clever' doesn't even cover half of what she is. He just prays that she's clever enough not to walk headlong into the trap that Felix has laid out for her.

* * *

Felix does not have to wait very long. Before the hour is up, at precisely 6:30 in the evening, there is a small commotion outside the manor. With the doors are thrown open to welcome the oncoming desert night, Felix hears the familiar voice of Silver Lamprey Cornelius chattering away with one of his soldiers as she is led towards the estate. A polite smile spreads over Felix's face. He intends on rewarding the woman for making things so easy for him. A quick death should be enough, though he can promise little more.

"Felix, how lovely to see you again," Sil trills as she is escorted to the front door by the soldier waiting outside. She ducks into her home with a pleasant smile gracing her expression, as if she is wholly unconcerned that she is walking right towards her own end.

If she thinks she can trick her way out of this one, though, she is utterly foolish. Felix has been hunting the Sterling Nightingale for years, and he will not let her escape his wrath now that he has her surrounded.

They share amiable smiles and Sil muses, "I see you've made yourself right at home. How do you like my estate?"

She shrugs off her light jacket and hands it to the soldier as if he is her butler. The man, seemingly at a loss, takes the garment and idles there uncertainly. Felix leans against the iron wrought rail of the twisting stairway that leads to the second floor and studies her.

"It's a nice enough place. I'm considering using it as my headquarters here in District 1," he remarks, taking in her appearance. Her face is just as open as it always is, though her hair has been dyed an auburn brown color that offsets her sun kissed skin. In her Factory outfit, Sil hardly looks like the socialite Victor he recalls in the Capitol. There are no luxurious gowns swathing her figure tonight, no outrageous make-up or shocking fashions adorning her form. Instead she looks haggard, almost, as if she has just stepped off of a shift in the lower floors of the Factory.

Her smile is still as wide as ever, though, when she beams at him with a trilling laugh, "Gracious, what a thought! I'm surprised, my dear Felix, that you've come here. It was quite cunning of you, hiding in plain sight all this time. It makes a person wonder where you got the idea!"

She chimes out a foppish laugh and simpers at him with an annoying smile.

Felix rolls his eyes at her and gestures to the soldier to shut the door, then strolls over to where Sil stands, stopping a few feet away as he eyes her. "I hope I left you with something to remember me by, Silver," is all he says, eyes gleaming into hers with malevolence.

Sil just smirks, "Oh Felix, I believe we should skip to the topic at hand, don't you? Where have you put my father?"

The question makes him place a hand theatrically on his heart. "Your father is safe, Silver. For now."

She tilts her head at him, though her foppish smile hardly leaves her face as she studies his expression. "And you will allow him to leave the district unharmed?"

Felix just opens his arms and replies, "I am a forgiving man, Silver. Your father need not pay for the crimes you have committed against the Capitol. I will let him go." Then, an eerie smirk creases over his face, and he adds, "Though I'm not so sure about my other captive."

Sil pauses, her face a perfect imitation of wary concern. The expression makes Felix chuckle. "I have spent seven years trying to find the Sterling Nightingale. Surely you didn't think I'd make our final moments together easy for you? In that room over there is a man under arrest, who has forfeited his life by coming here."

Sil glances over to the door that Felix gestures to. It is a door that opens to a sitting room where her father and her often entertain unexpected guests. It looks like the room will have a similar purpose tonight.

Back stiffening, Sil turns to Felix and warily inquires, "What man?" Though she knows full well who is behind those doors – she had witnessed his capture herself, after all – she believes that it is a good idea to allow Felix to believe that he has an upper hand.

Felix's next words do not come as a surprise to Sil, but when Felix smirks and drawls, "Finnick Odair," her expression morphs into flawless apprehension.

Silence cascades around them as she pretends to come to terms with his admission. She must do a fairly good job, because Felix's smirk only widens as the seconds toll by, devoured like sand in an hourglass.

"…Finnick, you say?" she wonders, glancing down at her hands in an almost idle manner. Felix crosses his arms, looking ever so victorious.

"Is the game up, Silver?" he asks, feral smile making his eyes burn with dark fire.

She looks up to catch his eye with a solemn expression, her wide smile nonexistent as she stands there in the center of the foyer, back stiff with unyielding purpose. But it is her eyes that fuel the victory Felix feels, alighting the air between them in shock waves. Her gaze tells him everything he needs to know before the rest of her does.

After a long, drawn out silence, Sil haltingly murmurs, "…I give up, Felix. What next?"

He straightens, lifts his chin, and informs her, "There is a firing squad outside."

He doesn't say any more. He doesn't need to. It is obvious that he means for Sil to give up in all ways. He means for her to walk before that firing squad and lay down her very life.

Swallowing thickly, Sil spears him a look and asks, "And Finnick?"

Felix studies her thoughtfully for a long moment before slowly saying, "I don't want Finnick's life, Silver. He's free the moment you die."

She doesn't believe him, but it doesn't matter at this point. Instead of arguing, Sil deflates and whispers, "Let me see him…"

Her request makes him laugh. With an amiable smile, he hooks his arm out for her to take and gallantly says, "Right this way." Then, once she hooks her arm with his, he leads her to the door of the study not ten feet away, and opens it.

The moment she appears at the threshold, Finnick bursts up from the couch with an exclaimed, "Sil!" He hurries towards her, wishing not for the first time that his arms were free. He cannot embrace her as he wishes, but that doesn't stop Sil from pressing her body to his and sighing out as she holds him.

"I'm sorry," he gasps, face crumbling in despair as he looks down at her. "I've ruined your plans by coming here – I wanted to make sure you were safe – "

"Finnick," she shushes him, reaching up to palm his face with both hands. She turns him to her and doesn't hesitate when she presses her mouth against his.

He doesn't hesitate, either. As if he is possessed by love, he sinks into her kiss with a desperate sigh. Their lips move slowly but with a certain hopeless agony that seems to perforate the room, as if they assume that this will be the last kiss they ever share.

If Felix has his way, it will be.

"I'm sorry," he says once more against her mouth, opening his eyes to take her in. Despite the change in hair color, she looks just the same. Just as lovely as ever – more so, even, now that she has shed the layers of her silly alter ego to instead embrace who she really is.

That addicting flash of intelligence shatters through her gaze as she looks up at him. Her thumb brushes over his cheek and she shakes her head, sending him a smile as she appeals, "Darling, it's nothing. I'm in no danger."

Finnick clearly does not believe her. His mouth tightens, jaw locking, looking entirely frustrated to be handcuffed as he is. He would protect her with his last breath if he had to. And yet…

"Father," Sil murmurs, looking to the older Cornelius who is currently tied to the chair on the other side of the room.

He quips a sad little smile her way and greets, "Hello, dove."

Yet this situation seems so utterly lost. So completely unsalvageable, even for the Sterling Nightingale to navigate.

Extricating herself from Finnick, Sil approaches her father to lay a hand on his shoulder. As she does, she muses, "You know, I've never much liked this room." She glances at Felix with a foppish smirk and explains, "It's too dark and dreary for my taste. Perhaps it needs a renovation?"

Felix sends her an indulgent sneer and humors, "I'll keep that in mind when I remake this place into my headquarters."

She simpers at him just as indulgently and trills, "And make sure you get rid of this chair, Felix darling. I've decided that I loathe it." She casts a disparaging glance to the chair that holds her father. Behind her, Felix scoffs and rolls his eyes. The banter is getting a bit old for his liking.

With a short glance at one of the soldiers, Felix orders, "Take the spy to the courtyard and execute her at once."

The words make Finnick abruptly exclaim, "No!"

He turns to Sil with a dire expression woven onto his face, drinking in the sight of her with desperate fear, as if he thinks he shall not see her after this, even in his dreams.

Sil turns to him, too, before glancing over at Felix to calmly inquire, "You will spare his life? And my father's?"

At her side, Gemma shifts. Felix's expression darkens. Sil knows he is lying when he responds, "They will be free. I'll have no further use for them after this." Then, waving his hand as if the entire situation is exhausting for him, Felix orders, "Take her away."

Finnick looks utterly hopeless. Sil steps over to him, eyes locked with his as she reaches his side. He struggles a little against the bonds that hold his arms back, wanting nothing more than the freedom to hold her one last time before the curtain falls upon this macabre scene. His eyes are wet with unshed tears. He suddenly cannot imagine life without her. It is almost funny how much his heart has grown since she had pranced her way into his life.

Sil raises a hand to his cheek. The other lingers at his chest, where her fingers curl around his shirt. The warmth of his body is a furnace that sets her on fire. But fire must destroy in order to bring renewal, and the kiss that Sil presses to Finnick's mouth feels far more tragic than hopeful.

Her thumb brushes over his cheek, lips softly moving against his in a kiss that is too brief, too harrowing, to make Finnick feel anything but misfortune of the highest degree.

He hasn't even had time to love her properly before she is being taken from him. Whatever forlorn, unforgiving twist of fate that had brought them together now rips them apart just as ruthlessly.

"My love, what I am about to do is for the best," she murmurs to him, lips mere centimeters from his. With a soft smile, she breathes, "Trust me, Finnick."

Finnick shakes his head, curling his body towards her and burying his face against her hair. She holds him there for a long moment, giving him what little comfort she can, before slowly pulling away. He cannot stop her, and so he just drowns there as Sil takes a step towards Felix and simpers, "I shall be back, Felix darling – to haunt you."

Felix gives her an unimpressed look and gestures at his soldiers to take her away. They surround her, but Sil glances back to look upon Finnick before she steps out of the room. He is staring at her with eyes that are sadder than any she's ever seen, set with a sorrow that makes her own heart beat wildly in her chest. If she still has any lingering concerns over whether Finnick truly loves her or not, they vanish now like wisps of smoke that curl into the sky and fade into nothingness.

She allows the soldiers to lead her away. The moment she disappears through the door, Finnick's head sinks down. His legs feel suddenly boneless. Fear is now the primary emotion that drives through him, made all the more potent when he hears, "READY!" being shouted by one of the soldiers who escorted Sil outside.

Felix steps further into the room with a wide smirk, hands primly set behind his back and head tilted just so, as if he is listening to a fanciful opera rather than the Sterling Nightingale's own death. They seem to be one in the same for him – both excitable and alluring.

"AIM!"

Finnick looks over at Gemma, who is sitting in the chair with a rather pale complexion, as if he can't quite believe that this is happening. None of them can, it seems, except for Felix himself, who patiently awaits the final order from the firing squad just outside.

After several long, drawn out moments in which the entire world seems to be put on hold, they hear it.

"FIRE!" the soldier shouts, and the quiet desert air explodes with the sound of gunshots that tear through the peace like so many desperate souls in search of heaven.

Finnick cries out at the terrible sound and falls to his knees, his legs finally giving out on him.

"Sil," he breathes, hanging his head. Tears prickle at the corners of his eyes. He barely has the strength to hold them back.

Silver Lamprey Cornelius is dead.

 


	58. Navigating the layers of your truths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Felix is in for a bit of a surprise...
> 
> I did use the 1984 movie version of The Scarlet Pimpernel to inspire this chapter, seeing as Andrews makes the best Pimpernel that Hollywood will ever see. That said, I hope you all enjoy this update and that you all have a wonderful next few days before the next one.
> 
> And just to warn everyone before you all start reading, Chapter 59 finally sees Finnick and Sil exploring another side to their relationship, so you can all look forward to that. On that somewhat vague note, please enjoy.

 

**Chapter Fifty Eight | Navigating the layers of your truths**

" _She felt neither soreness nor weariness; indomitable will to reach her husband in spite of adverse Fate, and of a cunning enemy, killed all sense of bodily pain within her, and rendered her instincts doubly acute." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

"Well," Felix murmurs into the deathly silent room. He lingers there at its center and glances disparagingly at his two captives. A soldier enters through the doorway of the room, where he salutes Felix and stands ready near the entrance. As if commenting on something a mundane as everyday life, Felix sighs, "Seeing as  _that_  tiring situation is over…soldier, take these two men into District 1 and hand them over to the mob."

Finnick jerks his head up to stare at Felix, who stares back with sick amusement and murmurs, "Don't look so alarmed, Finnick. They might be forgiving, despite your rebel tendencies."

Across the room, Gemma fights his bonds and spits, "You  _promised_  my daughter we'd go free."

The words make Felix tip his head back in a deep, full laugh, as if he's never heard anything so amusing in his life. "A promise to a traitor is meaningless," he shrugs, fixing his sleeves with a certain Capitol flair as he turns away.

And then, just as the soldier steps forward…

"Gracious, I do believe you're right," a voice drawls at the threshold, posh District 1 accent very much exaggerated despite it being counteracted by the wide smirk that plays out over the Sterling Nightingale's face. The entire room spins towards the sound of her sudden and unexpected voice, which so daringly takes them all off guard. Finnick gapes at her, so shocked he can only stare.

Simpering as she leans against the doorway without a care in the world, Sil cuts her gaze straight to Felix, ignoring everyone else in the room as she humorously tells her would-be executioner, "Fear not, Felix my dear – you are not looking upon a ghost." She smiles foppishly, green eyes gleaming, and lifts one slender wrist. "But – allow me to introduce your soldiers."

Suddenly, in tandem, Felix's men arrive in the doorway, which Sil steps away from so that they may come inside the room. They do, hands on their guns as they march with backs straight and chins high, filing into the drawing room with singular effect.

"Tommy Dewhurst of the Capitol," she announces, standing with one hand resting on her hip and the other proudly positioned towards the door as a man in Peacekeeper armor strides into the room, his helmet now tucked beneath his arm.

"Marcus Foulkes, District 10," she chimes as another soldier steps in behind Tommy, helmet also removed. He spears Felix with a roguish grin but doesn't linger, and Sil introduces, "Zephyr Hastings of District 5," as a woman enters the room next.

More soldiers keep pouring in, all with their helmets securely in their hands and their weapons nearby. Sil shoots Felix a cunning glance as she gestures at the line of men swiftly entering the room and articulates, "And the League of the Sterling Nightingale."

She claps the last man on the shoulder and turns to Felix with a prim, aristocratic expression, waiting for his response. He doesn't seem to have one, though. Along with everyone else in the unassuming drawing room, Felix is utterly shocked at the sheer boldness and audacity being unveiled before his eyes. He stares at Sil with his mouth hanging open, and pales.

His shock makes Sil's foppish smile grow ever wider. If it weren't for the dire circumstances of their current situation, the expression on her face might have placed her right back into one of her high society parties, spinning her into the fool she has pretended to be. But her eyes flash with guile, making it more than apparent that  _this_  was her plan all along. Instead of falling into Felix's trap, he has fallen into hers – unknowingly, and with exceptional gracelessness.

At Felix's silence, Sil tilts her head inquisitively and simpers, "I must admit that I am surprised at how easily you fell for this charade, Felix. Did you not notice their ill-fitting uniforms? A true man of the Capitol would surely have found it strange, don't you agree?"

She gives him a self-indulgent smile. "Then again, fashion never was your forte, was it?" she chuckles, eyeing his outfit with an affably judgmental air, as if she finds the entire situation to be hilarious.

The amusement on Sil's face finally seems to give him his voice back, and Felix grinds out, "If you were completely safe this whole time, why the dramatic mock execution?"

Sil bites her lip and shrugs, leaning against the doorway with a smug, "My dear, I never would have dreamt of depriving you of your moment of glory! As you said, you've spent seven years hunting for me."

Seven years. Seven years looking for a ghost that had been hiding right in front of him this entire time, purring out dramatic pet names left and right as she pretended to be the silliest socialite in Panem. Felix glares at her with eager hate, thinking back to all those fake hints she had given him regarding the identity of the Sterling Nightingale – rumors she had 'picked up from her friends'.

"Indeed," he hisses, fingers clenching into fists that barely contain his rage. She has taken him by surprise yet again – turned the tables so efficiently and so quickly that Felix is left miles behind. He does not know how this has happened, but he will put an end to it immediately.

With a furious sneer, Felix is pulling out his gun and aiming it at Sil in less than a moment. She straightens out of her casual pose, but doesn't move. Staring at him with far more seriousness than she had before, Sil raises an eyebrow and waits for the shot.

"Sil – damn it, don't – " Finnick begs, stepping forward with yet more desperation searing through him, but Sil just sends him a quick glance before returning her gaze to Felix, so utterly blind to everyone else in the room besides her own arch-enemy.

Felix pulls the trigger.

The room fills with yet another gunshot, but to their surprise, Sil appears completely unharmed as she stares at Felix with an almost lazy look in her eye. The ammunition has been exchanged for blank rounds. Felix stares at his gun with irate anger and throws it to the floor, and Sil laughs at him.

"Gracious, Felix, did you really think I'd let you keep that weapon if it could  _actually_  hurt me?" she asks in disbelief, only serving to make him all the angrier.

Felix rubs his forehead with his hand and bites out a laugh too, though there is no humor in the tones of it. He glares at Sil and sneers, "You've done it again, Silver. You've thought of everything. Only…this time, you've overlooked one thing."

Sil raises an eyebrow silently and Felix tilts his head towards her, "With District 1 in such a state, your only hope to reach safety is by returning to the Capitol. But to get to the train station, you'll have to travel through mobs of people who are, at this very moment, hunting you down."

Sil hums thoughtfully at this, tapping a finger to her lips as she sighs, "…So they are."

But Felix's smirk of victory does not last very long before Sil leans back casually and drawls, "But then, if you had ever bothered to look past your  _unerring_  assumption of my person, Felix my love, you would know that a few years ago, I invested in state-of-the-art security measures around the entire perimeter of my estate. Meaning…we are quite safe here."

She shrugs at him in a pitying manner as Felix turns red with fury.

With her mouth drawn in such a way that makes it fairly obvious she's trying not to grin, Sil drawls, "Oh don't be upset, Felix darling. I let you have your fun, but a moment was all I could spare."

He clamps his jaw shut, hissing, "My hat is off to you, Silver." He loiters for a moment, looking like he wants to say more, but instead of speaking, he spins around to grab the nearest soldier's gun from his belt. Sil doesn't expect that particular move. Unlike the gun Tommy had pilfered from Felix and reloaded with blanks, the rest of her men have fully workable weapons that can kill. Her heart leaps in her throat as Felix wrestles the gun away from Marcus, and she doesn't even hesitate as she launches herself forward to pull him to the floor.

Maneuvering Felix to the ground is easy enough – she's caught him off guard with the force of her body. Keeping him there is another thing entirely.

"Give up," she demands, pining his wrists to the ground with a dark look. Felix struggles, not listening.

"I want you dead!" he snarls as Sil pries the gun out of his hands. She tosses it away quickly and snipes, "Well you'll have to get in line, Felix."

And then she draws her fist back and punches him right in the nose. A satisfyingly loud crunching sound fills the room, followed by Felix's groan of pain. Tommy appears at her side to finish the job, effectively knocking Felix out with the butt of his gun and helping Sil to her feet.

Straightening herself out, she orders, "Take him downstairs. I want him locked in the cellar until we can get him to the Capitol." Then, raising her voice, she calls, "Hale!"

The head of house appears in the doorway quickly. Sil turns stormy eyes to him and quickly says, "Activate all security measures and keep the lights off. We don't want anyone waltzing in here – especially those soldiers at the end of my driveway."

Hale nods and ducks back out of the room to do as she says, and Sil finally allows herself to look over at Finnick.

He's staring at her with such a relieved look on his face that Sil can't help the giddy smile that spreads over her features. He returns it in a daze, almost, as one of her men releases him from the binds that hold his arms back.

And then –

He's kissing her, looping his arms around her tightly and dragging her forcefully to his chest. His lips are fire and she gasps against their unexpected passion. He pulls her as close as physically possible, tangling one hand into her hair as his lips work furiously with hers.

Gracious. She's never been kissed like this before, with this smoldering desire. Her skin blossoms beneath his touch. Her heart pounds. She clutches at his shirt with tight, clawing fingers, wanting nothing more than to tear it from his body in order to be closer –  _closer_  –

"I stand behind what I said before. No canoodling under my roof," Gemma's voice interrupts sternly, though his eyes are soft and amused, gleaming with happiness for his daughter.

The frank reminder of his presence – and the presence of Sil's men – makes her inhale sharply and pull away. Finnick doesn't let her get very far, though. His lips move over her cheek, then down her neck, where he nuzzles against her with a sigh. He keeps her pressed against him, arms holding her right where she is as he sends her a boyish grin and glances at her lips, bruised from his attention.

Around them, her men smirk and nudge each other, amused at their leader's awed expression. But she can't help it – every other kiss Finnick had given her pales to that one.  _That_  was…well. Words fail her.

Finnick smirks. Her awe is obvious as it creases the contours of her face. She stares at him with wide eyes. The green of them shudders with emerald, darker than usual.

He chuckles lowly at the sight she makes and murmurs, "You know, sugar, I think I prefer you as a blonde."

More than a little distracted by the man in front of her, Sil raises a hand to her hair. She'd forgotten about the dye. With a laugh, she tells him, "It isn't permanent."

He just drags her closer and pulls her into another kiss – more chaste than the last, and breathes out against her with a sigh. Behind them, Gemma clears his throat, a mischievous smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he idles by.

"I think I'll go assist Hale," he informs the room, nodding to Sil's men with a chuckle.

As he makes for the door, though, Sil abruptly pulls away from Finnick and says, "Wait, father."

Gemma pauses, glancing back at his daughter with a raised brow. His attention shifts, though, when another soldier steps forward. The rebels who had remained behind to guard Gemma and Finnick during Sil's mock execution are yet wearing their helmets, but that changes soon enough. Sil says nothing at all as she watches the soldier slowly lift the helmet away with almost hesitant fingers. Gemma's expression of confusion abruptly turns to utter shock when he sees the wispy blonde hair and twinkling green eyes of his long-lost wife peering at him from across the room.

At once, his regal bearing immediately plummets as he rattles in a breath, his wide eyes quickly filling with tears.

"…Aurelian?" he whispers, as if he can't quite believe that she's really there.

Sil glances over at Finnick with a quiet smile, and chuckles when he slips an arm around her waist and drags her against him as they watch the reunion of her parents.

Aurelian gives Gemma a watery smile and drops the helmet. Before it even hits the floor, Gemma is laughing tearfully and stepping forward, reaching for his wife's hands and scooping them into his own. For a moment, they just stand there like opposing atoms, connected but separate. But then…

"Gemma," she murmurs, and steps closer.

As her father laughs again and lets out a strangled, relieved sob, her mother circles her arms around him and they share a kiss of their own – a kiss that quickly makes Sil raise an eyebrow and slyly say, "I do believe this constitutes as 'canoodling', don't you agree, Finnick my love?"

At her side, Finnick snickers. "I think there might be a stronger word for it, sugar."

Sil laughs. "Indeed! Father, cease and desist before you ruin my childhood!"

Her father laughs loudly at this and pulls away from her mother to spear Sil with a look. Sil hardly bats her eye at it, though, and sends her mother a wide grin that is easily returned. The sight of her parents standing together in the same room, arms wound tightly around each other as if nothing at all has changed – it makes her throat close up a bit. At once, she is overcome by a startlingly bold emotion that seems to ricochet through her chest like a wayward shooting star. It takes her a moment to realize what it is, but when she does, her emotions become even shakier.

It is happiness. She is happy for the first time in a great while. It is an encompassing sort of happiness – not the small but pure joy that she has experienced with Finnick or the quiet cheer that she has felt whenever she would return home to her father and her estate and enjoy some semblance of peace away from the Capitol. It is nothing like the faded gaiety of the last seven years, which has come and gone at odd times like a wave hitting the shore and then retracting.

No, this is an all encompassing, overmastering happiness that seems to perforate throughout her entire person. The rays of it hit her in places she had not known existed. Her heart is full to bursting with it, and it shows in her eyes and in her smile and in her laugh.

"I hardly know what to say," Gemma chuckles, and turns to catch his wife's eye with a brimming smile. Aurelian smiles back, her green eyes teary.

"I do," she whispers, and grins, "I love you Gemma Cornelius, you great fool."

Sil isn't sure how it's possible, but her father's smile becomes even wider, and the joy that radiates from his figure is like nothing she has ever seen before. Gracious, but quite a lot has changed in a single night.

Gemma closes his eyes briefly, and chuckles, "We have much to talk about, Aurelian. Come – I think we need a drink to go along with this conversation." He steps back, moving towards the door of the sitting room. He lays a comforting hand on his daughter's shoulder as he passes, and tells her, "Why don't you take a shower and wash that stuff out of your hair, dove? I'm sure Finnick can give you half an hour before we get dinner prepared."

Sil hums in agreement, eyes slicing into Finnick's. She seems to regain some of her poise, for the look she sends him then makes his knees weak. His hands tighten around her waist as she breathes, "I think I'll do that. Do make yourself comfortable, Finnick."

He exhales slowly and has to literally force himself to step away from her. As he tugs at the collar of his constricting shirt, Sil gives him a once over and chimes, "I'm sure I can find something for you to change into, my love. We should really get you out of these clothes."

She sends him a cheerful smile, but her eyes gleam suggestively up at him, and Finnick swallows back a roiling wave of desire at the sight. She's really doing a number on him. If it weren't for her parents and the rest of her men being in the room, he'd show her exactly what happens when someone teases Finnick Odair, the Daydream of the Capitol.

Gemma just clears his throat again. His daughter's insinuations haven't gone over his head, but he says nothing more on the matter as he pulls her towards him and kisses her cheek affectionately. He's well aware that she loves Finnick – he saw it coming before it had even happened – and while he's pleased that she has someone to look after her, he'd prefer not getting in the middle of it.

"And after dinner," Gemma tells her as he turns back to Aurelian and takes her hand, "we really ought to discuss this Sterling Nightingale business. I've a few choice words to say on the matter, my dear."

Sil just laughs, "Oh, don't pretend you didn't suspect, father. You always know more than you seem to."

He just  _humphs_. As they reach the threshold, Sil glances behind her and says, "Tommy, you've been here before. Why don't you show the others around and find places to sleep for the night?" Once he nods, Sil peers over at Finnick with an expressive smirk playing at her mouth and drawls, "See you at dinner, darling."

Finnick just stuffs his hands into his pockets and stares right back, his own gaze transforming into something equally as fiery. The shivers that tear down her back as a result is well worth it.

When it comes to him, she has found that the results almost always are.

For several lengthy hours, the Cornelius manor is bustling, though from the outside, it hardly looks inhabited at all. All the lights at the front of the house are turned off, the doors locked tightly and the security measures turned on. Though the force field that buzzes around the perimeter of the estate is invisible, the quiet humming sound of its presence waylays any civilian from getting too close. The soldiers that had been waiting for Felix at the end of the long driveway are long gone, no doubt to search for reinforcements or some such thing. Sil can only hope that, by the time they get a sizeable force to attempt to broach the manor, the Capitol will send troops in to put them down.

Though the front of the house is deathly silent and ghostlike, the back of the manor is alive with merriment. Gemma and Aurelian are somewhere up above, having most likely retreated to their old room to have whatever conversation Gemma had declared them to be having. Sil isn't entirely sure that they are merely conversing though, if that kiss had been any indication. She doesn't linger very long on those thoughts while she takes her shower and rinses the hair dye from her hair. She doesn't really want to know precisely what is going on behind that particular door.

The Nightingale's men take turns doing rounds around the house to ensure that they are safe while Hale prepares dinner in the vast kitchen. Sil joins them after her shower, hair damp and blonde once more, and goes to sit with Finnick on the bar stools with two mugs of what smells like apple cider.

Finnick eyes the concoction with a raised eyebrow that Sil matches. She clinks the side of her mug against his and brings it to her lips. Finnick watches briefly before doing the same, until he starts coughing.

"What'd you  _put_  in this?" he demands, having not expected the generous dose of alcohol spiking the innocent drink.

With a trilling laugh, she responds, "Tequila, darling. Do you like it?"

Still clearing his throat, he chuckles at her and tries another sip, this time more prepared. "Mm…definitely different from Mags's homemade rum," he jokes, reminding her of the dinner party in District 4 so long ago. Sil leans back and smiles at the memory, caressing her mug with a quiet, happy expression.

"It's funny, don't you think?" she wonders as she watches Hale prepare dinner from across the kitchen. Finnick looks over at her and she explains, "All those months we spent pretending? After a while it started to blend together for me, and I found myself…wishing…" she trails off haltingly, looking away from Finnick as she wonders if she should really finish that train of thought.

But he just reaches for her hand, tangling his fingers with hers and quietly murmuring, "Me too."

The soft smile he sends her makes her heart skip a beat. She smiles back when he jokingly inputs, "Of course, you drove me absolutely crazy half the time. You still do."

Her smile instantly turns a shade darker. She leans closer and simpers, "Do I?"

He breathes out, shuffles closer as well, and tightens his grasp on her hand. "Silver…" he whispers, wanting nothing more than to kiss her again. But just as his mouth is lowering towards her, the kitchen door opens and Tommy steps inside.

"Sil, Dorsey just contacted me. He's…" when he sees Sil and Finnick's proximity to each other, he raises an eyebrow and slyly asks, "Should I come back later?"

Sil just chuckles and shakes her head, though Finnick would very much like to tell Tommy to do just that.

Tommy purses his mouth to prevent himself from grinning and says, "Dorsey's found a place to lay low for a while. He'll be heading to the Capitol on the first train tomorrow morning. I've also gotten news…you might want to see it."

He hands Sil the PAAD he's holding. On the screen is an article that makes her raise her eyebrows. She starts reading it as Finnick leans in to catch sight of the title.

" _Rebel Leader Alma Coin Dead. Girl on Fire to Blame?"_ he repeats in shock, leaning closer to read the article too. His surprise only gets more severe the further down he gets.

But Sil just calmly hands him the PAAD and scratches her neck idly, head tipping back as she thoughtfully muses, "I didn't think she'd actually do it…"

At her words, Finnick frowns in confusion and hands the PAAD back to Tommy. "What do you mean?" he asks, and Sil shrugs.

"I…found something, in Coin's office," she slowly admits, glancing at Finnick with careful eyes. "Paperwork that detailed a new version of the Hunger Games, where Capitol children would be reaped." Finnick stares at her in shock and she grips his hand tighter. "I assume that was the reason Coin wanted to meet with the Victors. I've had a very bad feeling about her lately."

Finnick hums and looks down at their hands. "I wonder what's happening with Katniss…"

Indeed. Sil can already imagine the pandemonium that had ensued upon Coin's death. The Girl on Fire is surely being treated with less admiration than she'd been given before.

"Gale won't let anything happen to her," she murmurs, before straightening up and looking at Tommy. "We need to return to the Capitol as soon as possible. We're sitting ducks out here. It won't take long for the rest of the district to realize we're here and come looking for us, state-of-the-art security or not."

Tommy purses his mouth. "I've informed the Capitol of what's happened, and what's going on in the streets here. Plutarch's been in contact with me. He said he'll be sending men as soon as he can."

Sil opens her mouth to respond, but Hale steps in and interrupts, "Let's all take a break from this rebel business and eat dinner, shall we? Will your men be joining us, Silver?"

Surprised at his sudden appearance, Sil whirls around in her chair. "Well yes, certainly. I'll go check on them now," she says, and gets up.

Finnick doesn't try to stop her. Instead, he just looks at Tommy and solemnly wonders, "How long do you think it'll take?"

Tommy just shrugs hopelessly and sighs, "I don't know. They have to regain order in the Capitol before they can send men here. It could very well be a few days, at least."

Hale, who is still standing nearby, cheerfully says, "Don't worry, boys, we've got enough food to last us a whole month, and Sil wasn't exaggerating about the security. We're completely safe here."

But Finnick can't help but wonder if they really are. He just sighs and taps the side of his face thoughtfully. To be quite honest, he can't remember what it feels like to be completely safe, or if he's ever felt it before at all.


	59. I am but mortal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Sil makes it her personal goal to get to the bottom of one particular mystery...
> 
> Quick chapter warning for anyone who doesn't like reading smut (is there actually anyone who doesn't like reading smut tho?): you should skip this one. And the next one. And the next one. I kind of went a little overboard with the smut in this part of the story because I was just really loving the fact that Finnick and Sil are finally together for real, so...I hope you all enjoy these next few chapters.

 

**Chapter Fifty Nine | I am but mortal**

" _All was so solitary, so silent, like unto dreamland." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

It seems that Sil doesn't take even a moment's rest. She works throughout the rest of the evening and late into the night, sending messages to Dorsey regarding their status and checking up with Plutarch about the events taking place in the Capitol. He tells her not to worry, to just hold on for a day or two until the general unrest within the rebel army dies down, but Sil hopes it won't take too long. She expresses this to him, warning him that District 1 is extremely unsafe and needs immediately attention, but there's little to be done for now. They will just have to wait it out.

Sil doesn't like the thought of waiting, but she distracts herself by routinely checking on her men as they take watches, until Marcus finally tells her to stop fluttering around and get some rest. She doesn't like that thought of that, either.

Her parents had made an appearance at dinner, and had joined the rest of them for an after-dinner drink. There had been many other things to discuss, mainly concerning their situation in District 1 and Felix's presence in their cellar. After a while, though, everyone had called it a night and had gone their separate ways. Her parents had gone to bed several hours before, retreating to their bedroom after giving her an affectionate kiss and a 'goodnight, dove.' Finnick, too, had meandered to his room about an hour before. Without either of them nearby, and seeing as her men have everything under control, Sil feels a bit lost. After spending another hour reading articles surrounding the current events in the Capitol, she finally decides that perhaps she ought to go to sleep, too.

Except – she can't.

Even after she changes for bed and slides under her covers, her eyes remain latched to the far wall, staring sightlessly into the distance as her mind whirls endlessly. The day had been trying, to say the least. Ensuring that her agents had been lined up to flawlessly support her plan had been tedious and time-consuming, and even though it had all paid off, she still feels restless.

With an aggravated sigh, Sil tumbles out of bed, grabs her robe, and pads out into the hallway as she ties it securely around her waist. She wants Finnick. If she can just be near him, perhaps her mind will quiet itself enough for her to get some sleep.

In hindsight, it's funny that she would think such a thing. If anything, Finnick makes her even  _more_  restless.

She's on her way to his room on the ground floor when she passes the entrance to the pool. At first, she doesn't even notice him. In the water, Finnick is in his element. She's about to walk past the doors when his head pops out of the water and causes her to gasp, hand flying to her chest as she stares at the scene with wide eyes. In the darkness, it's difficult to see him properly, but the moonlight casts enough of a glow to recognize his figure.

He doesn't seem to hear her and so she just stands there in the darkness of the hallway, watching him stand up to push his hair out of his face. Water sluices down his body. Her eyes follow its trail, until her breath gets caught in her throat.

Gracious! Is he…?

"Are you  _naked?!"_  she blurts out without any forethought whatsoever, and immediately blushes when Finnick stiffens in surprise and turns around to search for her. After a moment of peering through the darkness, he catches sight of her form and bites back a laugh. She looks utterly shell shocked.

Finnick regains his composure pretty quickly. He happens to be quite used to being around shocked women, regardless of his state of dress. He glances down at his body with a faux surprised expression and gasps, "Oh my God,  _am_  I?"

Sil glowers at him, not entirely sure she appreciates his mocking response.

With a purring laugh that sounds far too suggestive than she wants to acknowledge at the moment (she thinks), Finnick cuts through the water towards her and wriggles his eyebrows. "Why don't you come find out for yourself, sugar?"

The sentence shifts around in her head for a moment, until she remembers that he'd said the exact same thing to her all those months before, when they found themselves in a startlingly similar situation. She tilts her head and steps onto the smooth cement, abandoning her post in the doorway and watching Finnick closely.

The last time they'd been here together, she had ignored his invitation to instead turn on the little fairy lights for him – and then she had left, because her heart had been hammering too much and she had been afraid that her attraction would only amuse him. She's not afraid now.

As she steps slowly around the edge of the pool, Sil gives him a haughty look and drawls, "Perhaps I will."

Finnick chuckles and starts to say, "Ah, don't be like that, sug – wait, what?"

He watches with wide eyes as Sil smirks at him and unties her robe. When it drops to the ground, revealing her short nightshirt, his eyes darken with a hunger that makes her entire body startle to life.

"It is  _my_  pool, after all," she murmurs to him. Her voice is almost a purr. She fiddles with the top button of her shirt and slowly undoes it. And, as if she's totally unaware of his hungry stare, Sil calmly adds, "Besides, I think it's high time I got to the bottom of this great mystery."

A flicker of distracted confusion crosses his face as he watches her undo another button.

"What mystery?" he asks idly, not looking away from her hands.

She smirks at him and undoes the final button. "Whether or not you actually swim naked in my pool, of course."

The words make his eyes dart up to clash with hers, and a roguish grin crosses his face. He leans back against the edge of the pool with a low chuckle that does little to hide the desire from his voice, and throws his arms over the sides in a pose of flawlessly casual nonchalance.

He gestures toward the water and smoothly replies, "By all means. Nothing's stopping you."

Sil simpers at him and lingers for half a second before letting the nightshirt fall.

She can't claim to have ever done anything like this before, but even as her heart ricochets wildly through her chest, she feels this incredible sense of invigorating boldness stir through her as she stands there, bare except for the underwear that skirts the edges of her hips.

Meanwhile, Finnick stares. Oddly enough, she is not afraid of his stare at all. Perhaps it is because she is half hidden from sight in the darkness, with only the moon's glow to reveal her. Perhaps it is because she no longer feels the need to hide anything from him now. Perhaps it is because for the first time she can remember, Finnick Odair is completely speechless.

He gapes at her, mouth falling open just a bit, eyes hungrily drinking in the sight she makes, shoulders set as his upper body straightens against the pool's edge. And then, when she sees the way he swallows tightly and curls his fingers into fists, Sil gives him an amused smirk and reaches for her underwear.

"You might not want to do that," he croaks, voice raspy with a desire that sends shivers spiraling down Sil's body.

She is already bending over to remove her last garment, so she coyly looks up at him and purrs, "Why not, Finnick?"

He exhales sharply, pauses as if he's battling with himself, and then hoarsely mutters, "Because…that's the point of no return."

His warning bounces right off of her though. Sil's expression turns downright provocative as she murmurs, "Darling, whoever said I  _want_  to return?"

Finnick can only hold his breath, watching her slowly slide the underwear off without another word. He seems to have forgotten how to speak.

She straightens up, pauses for only a moment, before stepping towards the pool as bare as the day she was born. The water is cold, and eerie almost. Sil can't help but remember that time Finnick had taken her for a 'romantic moonlit boat ride' back in District 4. Back then, she had fallen for his tales of sea monsters only too easily, but she doesn't linger now in the memory of her wayward fear. She is far too caught up with the way Finnick is watching her.

He hasn't moved a muscle. He's stiff and unyielding against the side of the pool despite the casual way his arms are strewn over the cement edge. His eyes are locked with hers. They don't dare look away.

She's gorgeous. The moonlight enhances the white-blonde of her hair and makes her skin glow. She's almost efflorescent as she glides through the water – like a siren in the old stories he heard as a kid, who lure unsuspecting sailors to their deaths with their beauty. Well if she's a siren, then he's all too willing to get reeled in. It's impossible not to, the way his heart is trying to beat its way right out of his chest.

When she drifts to a halt a foot away from him, they just stand there for a long moment, studying the other as if in a new light. Finnick swallows thickly, wanting to move but not wanting to move – wanting to kiss her but not wanting to break the spell that has woven its way into the space between them. It is enchanting.

Sil edges closer and lifts one hand above the water to touch his face. As if he is suddenly free of the bewitching power that had held him in place, Finnick exhales and turns into her hand. He watches every move she makes as she leans closer, until their bodies are mere inches apart. Her lips tilt upward, seeking his, and he is only too happy to meet her halfway.

The kiss is almost heart wrenchingly perfect – innocent in a way that makes his head spin. Besides the hand on his face and the slow movement of their mouths, the rest of their bodies remain frozen in place, not touching.

She sighs out against his lips and breaks the kiss, pulling back. Perhaps it is the breathy sound of her sigh. Perhaps the way she shifts back, eyes flashing into his. Perhaps it is the knowledge that she is bare beneath the water or it is the desperate beat of his heart or the curl of desire that smolders a thundering path through his veins – it could be any of those or none of them. It makes no difference. All that matters is the way Finnick lunges forward and slides his hands around her waist to pull her abruptly against his body.

A gasp flies from her lips at the sudden action, but it is drowned from the kiss that Finnick plies her mouth with. At once, she feels him everywhere. His skin is pressed against her skin. His warmth is her warmth. It is like the floodgate of their desire has burst open, and as he clutches her to him and tips her head back with the force of his desire, Sil realizes something very crucial and extremely arousing: he is, in fact, naked. Very naked.

She moans. She can't help it. He's kissing her with such passion – such fire! Their bodies press against each other firmly, limbs suddenly entangled, hearts racing. The way she whimpers low in her throat makes him  _crazy_. He can hardly even  _breathe_.

"You  _are_  naked," she pants, words muffled against his lips. Her hands move all over him. She is finally allowed to touch him the way she's been dreaming of doing for months. She palms his chest, caresses his shoulders, dips her fingers against the fine bones of his spine on her way down his back. Her touch sets him on fire even as her words inspire amusement, and he chuckles hoarsely against her demanding lips as he battles with the two emotions.

Nipping at her bottom lip and loving the way she gasps breathily for him, Finnick growls, "So are you."

The sound of his voice makes her shiver. She clutches at his skin, drowning in the desire that ricochets through her. It is raw and wild – untempered and pure. The sheer force of it makes her feel like she's breaking and strengthening all at once.

Laughing at the absolute passion that drives through her, Sil gasps, "Finnick – "

He cuts her off with a swift and urgent kiss, hands moving over her to cup her rear, squeeze her flesh, move up to palm her breasts with soft but earnest hands. He can't believe they're doing this. It almost feels like a dream, but he could never dream up such a reality, nor could his mind conjure this woman in such perfection.

And she  _is_  perfect, in this moment. He doesn't remember ever being so aroused without the help of the pills he would sometimes take to prepare him for his clients. The idea of intimacy had been stolen from him for so long that now, feeling it so profoundly is exhilarating.

He could cry at the thought. He hopes she doesn't notice.

Whether Sil does or not, though, it hardly matters. Her every move is tender in a way that feels almost foreign to him. He is accustomed to the whims of his clients – the demanding nature of them, the way they use him for their own pleasure. Sometimes he felt pleasure from it too; a sickening desire that made him sick to his stomach afterwards. He could do nothing but allow them to use him, lest he suffer the consequences that denial brought. His body had never belonged to him, until now.

Something of his train of thought must show in the way he kisses her, because Sil slows down and breaks her lips from his slowly. She studies him for a moment. Then she tilts his face toward her and brushes her thumbs under his eyes to very gently wipe away the tears that, to his horror, had made themselves known. She doesn't say anything about what he's obviously thinking of. It doesn't take a genius connect the dots, and Sil is already clever enough.

No – instead, she just whispers, "You're  _mine_ , Finnick Odair."

And he stares at her in shock, because even though she's clever and intelligent and beautiful, he had rather hoped that he wasn't being so obvious after all.

Sil kisses him chastely and repeats, "You're mine. And I'm yours."

He breathes out hard, gathers her up into his arms, and embraces her. She lets him, throwing her arms around his shoulders, pressing her body against his, kissing his neck and jaw –

"Sil," he suddenly murmurs against her. His breath warms her collar. She shivers.

"Yes?" she breathes.

He pulls back to look at her, arms still tight around her bare form, body still pressed right up against hers. And then he slowly smiles. The mischief in his gaze drags her back into her desire all over again, and her breath catches.

Fingers brushing against her hip, he wonders, "D'you think your father will hear us  _canoodling_  in my bedroom?"

She has to bite her lip to stop her bright laughter from spilling into the air. He smirks wickedly down at her, but she can tell that he's being completely serious despite the joking quality of his question. With a grin, she informs him, "This is an old house, Finnick. The walls are very thick."

He grins too, for half a second, before frowning and asking, "And how do you know that, exactly?"

She giggles at the almost jealous way his words come out and kisses his jaw. "Experimentation, Finnick darling," she purrs teasingly. She can't help it.

His arms tighten around her. In a possessive voice, he demands, "What  _kind_  of experimentation?"

She bites her lip again to prevent another laugh and snarks, "Not the kind you're thinking." And, with a smirk, she pushes herself out of his arms, drifting back into the water with that teasing glint in her eye. She glances back at him and raises an eyebrow. "Why? Are you terribly jealous of the thought of me having other lovers?"

They stare at each other for about two long seconds before Finnick lurches forward with a growl, cutting through the water with such efficiency that Sil gasps and pushes herself back for no other reason than being startled at his abrupt movement. He catches her easily – to be honest she hadn't been trying very hard – and drags her into a possessive kiss that makes her toes curl.

"Like you said," he mutters, hooking his hands around her rear to lift her up,  _"you're mine."_

She gasps again, this time because of the way he's suddenly slicing through the water with her form clinging to his, legs thrown about his waist. It had been an unexpected move, but she's even more taken aback at the way Finnick makes for the stairs of the pool without hesitation.

"Finn – " she starts, grasping onto his shoulders tightly as he carries her out of the water. But he just chuckles lowly at her, squeezing her as he quickly heads for the open doors of his borrowed room.

When they get inside, they're met with a slight problem. It's completely dark. The moon's glow does not extend very far into the room, for there is only one other window that looks out over the desert in the far corner.

Finnick slowly puts her down, shivering at the way her body slides along his, and huskily wonders, "Are you sure we can't turn on some lights?"

She's silent for a moment, probably considering the safety of it and whether or not it would draw attention to the Cornelius estate from the outside. After a moment's deliberation, though, Sil blindly reaches for the light switch, flicks it on, and immediately heads to draw the heavy curtains. She fiddles with a few things, looking entirely unconcerned about her state of dress – or there lack of – and flicks on a softer lamp before turning the bright overhead light off. When she finally turns back to Finnick a moment later, he's watching her with dark eyes, and she swallows tightly at the sight he makes. Gracious, but Finnick Odair is truly beautiful.

"Sil…" he murmurs, trailing off as he looks at her, eyes scorching over her bare body. It's almost as if he was looking at her blind before. Now, in the dim light of the lamp, the sight of her is startlingly clear.

"Come here," he grits out, barely stopping himself from pulling her against him. He watches her lips turn up into a smirk. She takes a small step forward, eyes darting over his own figure with slow reverence.

Straightening at her sudden attention to his body, Finnick tries not to shiver at the vulnerable atmosphere that is quick to lurch through the room. He's done this hundreds of times with hundreds of women, but none of them had been with  _Sil_ , and that makes a world of difference.

She walks around him and reaches out to lay her hand against his chest. Again, he doesn't move a muscle. The spell has returned, freezing him to the floor as he watches her watch him. It's almost addicting, the way a simple cut of her eyes can reduce him to smoldering ashes.

"Remember the Quarter Quell?" Sil suddenly asks, taking him off guard with the random question. He raises an eyebrow and nods. She smirks and brings her other hand to his chest, smoothing her fingers over the muscles that lay beneath his skin. He holds his breath as she murmurs, "Ever since I saw you in that costume, I've wanted to touch you like this."

Finnick feels his mouth curve up at her admission. He chuckles and tells her, "Then touch me."

 _Touch me._  She stares at him with her hands lingering on his chest and decides to do exactly that.

Leaning in, she kisses the center of his chest. Her hands fall down his body, palming over the planes of his stomach, his hips, his thighs – and as she curls her touch around his rear and back up his spine, Finnick really can't help himself anymore. Not when she's like  _this_. Not when there's a big, luxurious bed waiting for them only a few scant feet over.

He exhales, steps closer, and tilts her chin up. When he kisses her next, it makes her feel like she could jump into the sky and never come down again. He drags his fingers down her neck, shoulder, arm, until his hand tangles with hers and he pulls away.

She's disappointed for a split second, until she realizes that he's pulling her with him, and that their destination is the large bed that's covered with mosquito netting – a decorative flare she had decided upon during one of her redecoration stunts. At the time, she never would have imagined that she would be spending the night beneath the gossamer curtains, curled up in Finnick's arms.

It's funny how life works sometimes.

He slides onto the mattress. She follows. For a moment they linger there like two opposing atoms, until Sil breaks the spell and crawls into his waiting arms. And then – as if the very universe has shifted, as it often does to accommodate lovers, the careful atmosphere that has gathered in the room breaks too, and Finnick is suddenly rolling Sil beneath him and nestling his body against hers – and his lips are moving with her lips, and his fingers are tangling with her fingers, and their breath is one just as their bodies soon become one as well.

They linger there underneath the netting, shifting together as the bed subtly creaks beneath the weight of their combined bodies, and the entirety of their troubles drift away. There is nothing but the two of them exchanging heartbeats like they are coins to be thrown into a wishing fountain.

And - there is nothing else.


	60. My power does not lie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Sil and Finnick have both a good morning after, and a not so good one.
> 
> Warning: there is more smut in this chapter because. I don't have an actual reason.

 

**Chapter Sixty | My power does not lie**

" _Was the fragrant breath of the breeze suddenly caused by the flutter of angel's wings, bringing tidings of unearthly joys to her, after all her suffering, or – faint and ill – was she the prey of delirium?" Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

Sil wakes up to a most peculiar sensation. It is undoubtedly composed of a combination of many things, including perhaps the lack of bright sunshine pooling into her face from her bedroom windows, and the muscles made sore from the day before during her long jaunt through District 1, and maybe also that she is not alone.

The realization comes to her slowly, as if she is breaking free of some trap that had kept her tied to only one reality. It's rather hard not to notice, though. Besides the incredible amount of warmth she's comfortably nestled against, she can feel light breathing against her hair.

She's only been in a position such as this with a handful of men in the last seven years, and none of them had been of her choosing. She's been lucky enough to not have be manipulated in such a way by President Snow. She's been to the odd hotel room, of course, but it had never been a regular occurrence like it had been for…

"Finnick," she breathes, and the floodgate of memory bombards her with last night's events. She opens her eyes, wanting to ensure that said memories aren't just wayward dreams conjured by a silly heart, but she needn't worry so much. Finnick is right there, breathing lightly with one arm strewn behind his head and the other wrapped around her waist. And…he isn't as asleep as she thought he was.

Sea green eyes flash down to hers as a mischievous grin takes hold of his features. The sound of his name seems to pull him out of whatever thought he had been embroiled in, for he turns to catch Sil's wide eyes with a daring smirk.

"Silver," he murmurs back. His eyes flicker over her, taking in the mussed up white-blonde hair and the flushed cheeks. Her lips are bruised, and she's got a love mark that she's probably unaware of on her collar. He purses his lips to stop himself from grinning and decides not to inform her of its existence, lest she cover it up.

As if she is utterly shocked that he's really here, and that her memories aren't just a dream, Sil pushes herself up on her elbows and stares at him. He stares back with casual apathy, watching the emotions flickers across her face in interest. After a moment of this, Finnick can't help but drawl, "It's alright, take it all in. I'm used to this type of response."

His words make Sil jerk a little, pushing back. She feels at once unsure of what she should do. This is…irregular. She doesn't think she's ever experienced a morning after – certainly not with someone she actually loves.

For the first time in her life, Silver Lamprey Cornelius has absolutely no idea what to do. What happened to the suave seductress she'd been last night, when she had fearlessly stripped down in front of him and boldly touched him? Is she suddenly incapable of those brazen passions? All she feels able to do is stare at him.

Finnick seems to find her reaction amusing. He's already chuckling to himself as he lays there, watching her like she's the most hilarious creature on the planet. His laughter doesn't exactly help her cause. With a jolt, Sil sits up, turning away from him to search for her clothes. She blushes a bright red when she realizes that they're by the pool.

"Gracious!" she exclaims, her posh accent coming out at full force. Finnick thinks it's adorable. Also very amusing.

"You alright, sugar?" he purrs from the pillows, nudging her with his knee. She jumps up at the sudden move and he laughs, "You don't look too good."

With an indignant expression, Sil whirls around to face him, opening her mouth to no doubt berate him for his teasing – but the moment she sees him, the words die on her tongue.

Gracious, indeed.

Bare chest on full display, both of Finnick's arms are now cushioning his head as he blinks up at her. He looks completely comfortable despite the fact that the sheet is just  _barely_  covering him as it drapes low over his hips. Sil can hardly be blamed for being speechless at the sight he makes.

He smirks widely at her stunned expression and murmurs, "Easy there, Silver – you're making me want to do things that'll make us late for breakfast."

As expected, her face reddens immediately at his innuendo, and she raises her free hand to wave at her face.

She stares at him, still hardly believing that Finnick Odair is in bed with her. Did last night really happen? Was she  _truly_  not dreaming it up? She has yearned for something real to happen between them for so very long, and now that it finally has, she's not sure how to react. She's being utterly silly about it, she knows. What on earth is she doing, anyway? Staring at Finnick when she could be kissing him, or…she blushes again and clears her throat.

It's just, she's been with enough men to know how to act, but she's never cared about any of them. They were all men that Snow told her to please. On the rare occasion that he needed political support or some such thing, he'd send Sil to butter them up with a night of parties and alcohol and sex. It hadn't happened very often but she had never enjoyed it. And with Felix, she feared his touch. She loathed his body. She hadn't disliked any part of last night, though. It's certainly a first for her.

And – she feels caught off guard at the sudden inadequacy she feels. Finnick's been with so many women. Was she…any good? Did she please him? Surely, he's woken up plenty of times feeling satisfied, but it's a first for her.

Her silence makes him frown, deciding that the air between them is a bit too serious for his liking. Sil's got a strange expression on her face – almost sad, in a way – and it's making him a little worried.

Slowly, so as not to frighten her off, Finnick sits up and asks, "…Sil?"

She turns to look at him, studies the slight concern in his eye, and smiles with a shake of her head, "Ah. Speaking of breakfast, I really think we should – "

He reaches for her hand and draws it into the both of his. "What's going on? Do you…regret what happened?"

Her faces instantly morphs into one of total shock. Regret? Being with Finnick Odair? After a moment though, she decides that she can't blame him for reaching that conclusion. She's been strangely silent and Finnick is no doubt uncertain regarding the reason for it.

She squeezes his hands before shifting her body towards his and whispering, "No, I don't regret it. I was only – " she laughs in embarrassment and pulls her hand away, "I was just…I've never actually…felt such…"

The halting admission makes Finnick pause. He tries to catch her eye, but Sil just stares at a spot above his shoulder. He exhales, raising a hand to touch her cheek. As his fingers gently tuck some of her hair behind her ear, he softly asks, "Did you… _enjoy_  last light? With me?"

There's the slightest hint of humor in his voice that makes Sil purse her mouth, unsure if she's amused or upset or something else entirely. She's not really sure of anything right now.

She turns to look into his eyes as she says, "Yes." And as she watches him breathe out, she quietly, almost timidly asks him, "…And did you…?"

The question actually seems to take him off guard. Surprise momentarily flickers over his face. The sight of it makes her immediately embarrassed. She wishes she could take the question back. Easing away a little, Sil starts to shift back, deciding that perhaps she doesn't want to know the answer after all.

But – to her shock, Finnick grabs her before she can make her escape. In less than a second, he's pulling her beneath him, towering over her form with a look in his eye that makes her entire body feel like it's on fire. She shivers.

The growing desire only gets worse when Finnick purrs, "Silver…wasn't it obvious? Didn't you see how crazy you made me?" He leans down. His entire body nestles into hers and her breath catches at the feel of him pressing against her thigh. She quivers there, fingers clutching onto his biceps, staring up at him with wide eyes.

He presses his mouth to hers and whispers, "Maybe I should show you again…"

The insinuation makes her breathlessly kiss him back, pulling him closer to wrap her arms around his neck. She opens her legs, drawing his hips against hers. They both shiver as their lower bodies connect. Finnick groans low and shifts his hips a little against her, causing desire to rush through her body with every delicious twist of friction.

"Finnick," she moans, causing him to kiss her harder in response. He draws her lip between his teeth, gives her a playful nip, and then drags his mouth down her neck to her collar. Kissing the love mark he'd put there last night, Finnick grins against her skin and chuckles, hands hiking her leg higher over his waist.

"I'll show you a thousand times if you need me to," he whispers against her. His voice is a mess of desire, and she shivers again because it's almost as if he's transferring it to her with every move he makes.

She feels ridiculous for her doubts. She doesn't need him to prove anything to her. He's already proven everything she needs to know.

With a gently sigh, Sil murmurs his name again. He looks up. Confusion flickers through his eyes when she puts her hands on his shoulders and pushes him back. He thinks, for a moment, that she means to stop this before it even starts – until she rolls him over, hooks her leg around his waist, and pulls herself on top of him. And the sight she makes, hovering over him like that with her body on full display…

Well.

"A thousand times?" she asks with a smile, settling her hands on his chest as she leans over him. He breathes out hard when her hips connect with his, yearning for more contact with every cell of his body.

It takes an immeasurable amount of willpower for him to grit out, "On second thought, that's not nearly enough." He chuckles, but it's dark and low and full of desire, and his breath is shallow and his face is tight, and –

He looks like he's seconds away from pulling her down and showing her precisely how crazy she really makes him.

The familiar stirring of that bold passion lights her up. She wonders how she could have lost it, even for a matter of minutes. When it comes to Finnick, loving him is so easy.

It is that boldness that makes her lean down to kiss him. It makes her linger there for only a moment, despite the eager way he kisses her back. It makes her trail her mouth down his body with feverish desire, wanting to experience him like she might experience a fine meal – all seven courses laid out in a startling array for her to savor.

She wonders how she could have ever doubted herself. He wonders, too.

"Silver…" he trails off, body tense and hard as she drops kisses down his stomach. She's on a one-way road that he's quite familiar with. He knows exactly what she's planning.

When she reaches his hip, she looks up at him and feels desire churn through her so forcefully that her breath gets knocked right out of her chest. He's looking at her like he wants to devour her, eyes darker than she's ever seen them, face set with a smoldering hunger that only serves to drive her forward. For – he will not be the one doing the devouring this time.

When his hands flutter over her shoulders, grasping them as if he means to halt her progress, Sil quietly murmurs, "Do you want me to stop?"

She will not enforce her touch where it is not wanted. Lord knows he's had to go through scenarios like  _that_  far too often already. She will not be added to the ranks of that particular nightmare.

Finnick, though, just chuckles huskily and growls, "That's not a fair question, sugar."

Her mouth curls up in response, just as her hand grasps his hardened length.

His reaction is immediate and startlingly beautiful. Body reeling, he lets out a rough breath as she drags her touch gently over him, thumbing along the bottom of his length as she pulls him to her lips. He can't look away from her as she sucks at him. It's like he's frozen to the spot, eyes trained on her face and the way his length disappears between her pink lips.

"Silver," he groans, fingers tangling into her hair as she starts to bob her head. His legs prop up on either side of her, fingers tight and grasping. He's been in this very same scenario more times than he can count, but somehow, it's different today. He knows why.

It's her. It's always been her, even when he hadn't realized it. Even when he thought she was just an idiotic Victor who cared only for her clothes and her parties. She's always made him crazy – he just never realized why.

Pleasure like nothing he's ever experienced batters through him, turning his veins to fire. He lays there against the propped-up pillows as it scorches through him. It tumbles like waves into every festered wound he's ever obtained, from every intimate moment he was forced into, and burns as it heals.

Her hands brush over him, thumbing against his hipbone, rubbing against his thigh. He can hardly breathe in the face of this immense feeling. It's nothing like he's ever felt. It's like a tidal wave that crashes him down and pulls him under – so deep that he loses sight of the surface. It doesn't matter, though, because he thinks that as long as it's Sil doing this to him, he doesn't really need to breathe anyway.

He watches her like a starved man, committing every movement she makes to memory. Every twist of her hands, every lick of her tongue, every kiss, every sigh. He can't remember anyone ever touching him quite like this – as if it's as pleasurable for her as it is for him. He thinks it's crazy to think that way, because the pleasure he feels is so incredibly immense, but…

It's true. She looks like she can't get enough of him. Like just the mere act of doing this for him gives her more relief than everything he could do to her put together.

That, he decides, is an experiment he will have to test. But – for now, he can only focus on the fire, the way it builds with every twist of her lips and fingers and tongue – the way it makes his body shudder and tremble.

Feeling as desperate as he sounds, Finnick croaks, "Sil – " he pulls her head up, panting as he looks down at her, and somehow finds the willpower to stop her from dragging that fire through him until the very end. As much as he'd like to experience that, eventually, he'd much rather direct this situation towards a different ending for now.

She lingers there between his legs for a long moment, his hand cupping her face, until she gives him a little smile that makes him  _crazy_  and crawls up his body.

"What is it, Finnick?" she murmurs lowly. There's a teasing lilt to her voice.

He exhales hard and drags her down, pulling her onto him with one smooth flourish. The move makes her moan loudly, dizzy with surprise and lust at the feeling of him inside her. She wriggles her hips, making him grit his teeth and grab her waist tightly. Then, leaning forward, she begins to move.

Their breaths pool together, lips hovering close as their bodies fall into a fast rhythm. It's like they're racing forward and they don't have time to linger. They need release.

They move with a frenzied sort of passion that leaves them breathless and aching. Desire blisters at them, brimming up like wildfire that brands them with stark need. Hips shudder, roiling together like unbreakable waves. Even though he is underneath her, Finnick seems to control the pace innately as his hips plunge up to meet with hers.

It's an unforgivable pace – fast, quick, almost dire in its urgency. They're fast to rise and fast to fall, bodies tumbling together like vines twining toward the sky. She grasps at his shoulders with clawing fingers, breasts pillowing against him as her upper body leans into his. And he holds her there, one arm tight around her back while the other clenches at her hip as he guides her to him almost forcefully. It's dizzying – beautiful. She can hardly get enough of him.

She moans in his ear and shifts faster, taking him inside her as if she hopes he'll never leave. She can't remember ever feeling so blissful before. She doesn't think she has.

He clutches at her, moving from her hips to the apex of her thighs. When he spins his thumb over her clit expertly, Sil lets out a breathy gasp, hips shuddering faster into his. Every thrust makes her want to cry out. Every heavy breath that leaves his throat makes her absolutely crazy.

And then, with his hips rushing up to meet her and his thumb spiraling pleasure through her whole body, Sil whimpers out Finnick's name and falls into the dark caress of her finish. Pleasure unfurls for her like sails on a windy day, and the sound of her whimpers only serve to drive Finnick closer to his own end, too.

He groans, hips spluttering unevenly, fingers grasping her tightly, and falls with her.

And then – in the efflorescent glow of fading desire, he wraps his arms around her and buries his face into her neck as she lowers her body against his. They fall silent but for their breaths, which spin out roughly as they try to catch them.

A few minutes pass like this until Finnick smirks against her neck and playfully murmurs, "Well I wasn't expecting  _that."_

To her horror, she feels herself blush. He catches sight of it and laughs.

Slapping him, Sil warns in an indignant voice, "If you keep laughing it'll be the  _last_  time it ever happens."

The warning immediately shuts him up, which she finds slightly amusing. Pulling back to catch his eye, she bashfully asks, "Was it…alright?"

He stares at her and incredulously repeats,  _"What it alright?"_  Then, sending her a leering grin, he squeezes her hips and growls, "I honestly don't know how it could've been better."

She blushes harder, but her shyness doesn't extend into her voice when she shrugs and adjusts her body over his, smirking, "Well…I'm sure there's always room for improvement." She smiles suggestively at him as her fingers brush over the bronzed skin of his shoulder.

She shivers at the dark look he sends her. Lips curling up, Finnick leans in to kiss her, cupping her face with one hand and dragging her impossibly closer. The kiss is just starting to get interesting when suddenly, a knock sounds at the door.

Sil jumps as if she's been burnt, glancing back at the door with a horrified look on her face. Finnick purses his lips to stop himself from bursting into laughter and mischievously sings, "Who is it?"

She glowers at his amused tone and he squeezes her leg playfully.

Tommy's voice is amused, too, when he calls, "Finnick, I was just hoping that if you run into Sil, you could inform her that her father is wondering why she's nowhere to be found."

Sil's horrified look worsens. Finnick can't help but laugh at the sight she makes. He's still laughing when he calls to Tommy, "Sure, if I  _run into her,_  I'll definitely let her know." He sends Sil a leering grin that makes her blush.

Tommy's voice is strained with his own brand of laughter when he returns, "And also just make sure you tell her that Hale laid out some clothes for her on one of the pool chairs. You know, just in case she's in need of any."

Finnick snickers at the way Sil's face turns redder and redder. She stumbles off of him as he gives her a thorough look-over and shouts, "Oh, I don't think she really  _needs_  clothes, Tommy."

Aghast, Sil shoots him a look and hisses,  _"Finnick!"_  Then, slapping a hand over her mouth, she glances at the door and hopes that Tommy hadn't heard.

It doesn't really matter if he heard or not, though. It's pretty obvious that he's aware of her presence in Finnick's room. Finnick laughs and sends her a wink as he leans back casually on the bed.

She wrinkles her nose at him and  _humphs_  before moving to the bathroom to clean herself up. Finnick Odair will be the death of her – but then, she's known  _that_  from the very beginning.

* * *

Breakfast is awkward. It's fairly clear that everyone in the house knows what Finnick and Sil had been up to. Normally it might not bother her so much, but her  _father_ and _mother_  are among them and it rather horrifies her.

Neither of her parents appear to feel as awkward as his daughter, though. Gemma's eyes burn with mischief when she arrives at the table. Finnick is already there, stretched out in his chair as he casually sips at his coffee. When he sees her, he sends her a wide smirk that makes her blush bright red. He isn't the only one who laughs at the sight of it.

Rolling her eyes, Sil chimes, "Yes, yes, laugh all you want. I'm sure I'm very amusing." She grumbles to herself as she reaches for the coffee press.

Finnick snickers and drawls, "Would you like some sugar?" He pushes the sugar bowl towards her with a smirk and watches in amusement as she blushes even harder. His voice is full of innuendo that he's not even trying to hide it. Glowering at him, she grabs the sugar bowl and pushes her nose into the air as she stirs her coffee with a dainty flourish.

"Did you have a nice sleep, dove?" Gemma wonders almost idly, avoiding the elephant in the room with a well placed, seemingly innocent smile. Sil glances up at him with her mouth hanging open, much to the amusement of everyone else at the table, and stares.

Her father just raises an eyebrow at her teasingly and watches as she blushes yet again, sending a smirk to her mother as if this particular situation happens every day, and isn't something to be overly concerned with despite her being their daughter. As for her mother, well…

Aurelian merely smiles happily at Sil, her green eyes edged with a mischief that is only a little bit more subtle than her husband's.

Gracious! She hasn't ever blushed this much!

With a twist of her mouth, Sil responds airily, "I had an  _awful_  sleep.  _Someone_  was hogging all the blankets." She shoots Finnick a scowl.

If everyone, even her parents, is going to tease her about last night, then she's not going to bother with discretion.

Finnick hardly bats an eye at her though. He just leans back in his chair with a playful spark in his gaze and says, "Well I had a  _great_  sleep. Had some pretty spectacular dreams, too." He smirks at the reaction it causes around the table.

Gemma clears his throat, trying to hide his chuckle as he lifts up his glass of orange juice. Tommy and the other soldiers snicker at Sil's expense, and Sil…she turns her gaze to anything  _but_  Finnick, avoiding looking at him at all costs.

Fingers tapping against her thigh, she shoves bite of her omelet into her mouth. If she's hoping it will save her from this conversation, though, she's sorely mistaken. Finnick's having far too much fun.

"Aren't you gonna ask me what I dreamed about, sugar?" he purrs, eyes flashing into hers from across the table. She can't help but slice her gaze to him, blushing prettily under the heat of his eyes.

Gracious.

"I'm not entirely sure I care, darling," she haughtily responds, leaning back to blink at him challengingly.

He hums with a smirk and shrugs, "That's a shame. I'm pretty sure you'd appreciate the theme."

She huffs at him. She can hardly believe how  _obvious_  he's being. Glancing over at her father, she pauses at the sheer amount of amusement coloring his face. She expected a bit more…overprotectiveness? Gemma Cornelius has always been mischievous, but his humor takes even her off guard.

"Oh don't look at me like that, dove," he chuckles at her, "I knew you were in love with that boy before even  _you_  did."

This time, she blushes so deeply that Finnick bursts out into laughter. She glares at him and then turns away to hiss,  _"Father!"_

Gemma just chuckles and pats her hand. "I'm just happy it all worked out, Sil." Then, pausing to turn to Finnick, Gemma casually adds, "Of course, I feel that it's my duty to inform you, Finnick, that if you hurt my daughter I will not stand idly by."

The warning comes as a bit of a surprise to Finnick, though he recovers quickly. His expression turns serious for the first time. He glances over at Sil and says, "Gemma, I intend on making your daughter the happiest woman in Panem."

The way he says it, coupled with the soft look that enters his eyes, has Sil staring at him in shock. Her mouth slowly twitches into a smile that he quickly reciprocates. Gemma grins at the sight they make and reaches for a slice of toast. They're still looking at each other in that love-struck way when he cheerfully inputs, "Well good. You can start by dealing with that ghastly Capitol wedding Snow forced you to have. That's the only reason I'm not having a fit about last night, dove. You  _are_  technically married, after all."

The reminder jolts her firmly back into reality. She blinks at Finnick in surprise. He looks a little caught off guard too. It seems they'd both forgotten, in the recent events, that they are indeed legally bound.

Gemma eyes Sil's left adds, "Though I don't see your ring, dove."

There's a question in his voice. A question that quickly appears in Finnick's eyes, too, when he turns his gaze to her hand as well.

She quickly shoves it under the table with an awkward, "That's because it's in my room." Finnick raises an eyebrow and she rolls her eyes at him breezily. "Really, Finnick, that's not fair. As nice as it was, our wedding was a joke."

He looks a tiny bit frustrated, though the emotion is carefully blanketed when he dryly responds, "Well thanks for the honesty, sugar. I'm so glad to know that you think so lowly of me being your husband."

She whips her eyes up to his in surprise, having not expected the tone of his voice. The morning has been so deliciously perfect that it feels strange for it to suddenly come crashing down like this. And it is – coming crashing down, that is. Finnick's expression is blank and emotionless, but Sil can see the slight tinge of hurt in his eyes clear as day.

She hadn't meant for her words to come out like  _that_.

She opens her mouth to set things straight, but Finnick cuts her off, "No, really. You're right after all. Like you said, our whole relationship is an act. We wouldn't even be here right now if it wasn't for Snow. That's kind of funny, isn't it?"

She recoils. The table's occupants quiet down, watching the building tension with wary eyes. Aurelian frowns at Finnick's words but remains silent. This isn't her fight. Gemma turns to look at his daughter, only to see that she has composed her face into one of her masks. He knows it's because Finnick's words, true though they are, had hurt her. He sighs.

"It's hilarious," Sil intones, staring at Finnick blankly. "I suppose he's the  _real_  reason we've gotten so wrapped up in each other's lives."

She's lied many, many times over the last seven years. She's lied many times to Finnick, too. But she's never before told a lie that leaves such a foul taste in her mouth.

Her mouth curls up bitterly and she pushes her chair out to stand up, taking her coffee mug with her.

"I've things to do," she says, at once disappearing behind the veneer of the Sterling Nightingale. Finnick isn't sure what to say, so he just stares.

Well. So much for that deliciously perfect morning.


	61. In the infinities of the gods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Finnick and Sil stop being ridiculous, somewhat.
> 
> Yes, here is another smut warning just in case anyone wants to skip...most of this chapter. I hope you all enjoy this update, and I shall see everyone on Tuesday!

 

**Chapter Sixty One | In the infinities of the gods**

" _He seemed to worship me with a curious intensity of concentrated passion, which went straight to my heart." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

She spends the day avoiding Finnick. It isn't how she imagined things would happen, but when have things ever happened that way she'd expected? Her whole life has been a series of unplanned phenomenon. She isn't entirely surprised, and it isn't so very difficult to keep herself occupied. The Cornelius estate is huge, and she knows it like the back of her hand. Avoiding Finnick is simple and keeping herself busy is even simpler. She has so many things to do that the opportunities are endless.

She throws herself into work, calling Dorsey to check up on him, speaking to Plutarch about the latest events taking place at the President's manor. She even busies herself with checking the news and devouring article after article on the current situation in the Capitol. All the while, she brainstorms ideas on how they can get out of District 1. That leads to a whole other problem.

People have started to gather outside the Cornelius estate. Like buzzing flies, their shouts rend the air. Sil has all the windows closed, but it only seems to instigate them even more. Despite the fact that they aren't able to get within a hundred feet of the house, it hardly stops them from trying. Every time they fail, their voices get louder with their anger.

It's clear what they want: her.

Silver Lamprey Cornelius, the Sterling Nightingale, is a rebel traitor to them. They want to see her burned, or so she has gathered when she sees the straw scarecrow they've created, clothed in a gaudy ballgown with a painted black bird scorched over its forehead. Once evening hits, she watches silently from the upstairs window as they stake it into the ground and light it up, yelling riotously as it goes up in flames. It's horrifying to watch, made all the worse because she knows that this will be her fate if she ever falls into their hands.

She swallows thickly as she leans against the window and peers out at the mob. She hopes they don't find a way to circumvent the security protocols. Despite having invested in very high-end systems, it only takes one man to find a loophole, and District 1 is a powerhouse of resources.

"Don't look," Gemma tells her later on, while they all sit down for dinner and Sil gets up under the pretense of making sure everything's alright.

She pauses, glances at him, and tells him, "Their barbaric methods don't scare me, father."

She's lying.

She is scared, but not because of some ridiculous savages who are clearly trying to get a rise out of her. No, she's scared because she's wondering if this is all there's ever going to be. If she will only ever be the Sterling Nightingale for the rest of her life. If she's truly not allowed to be anyone else. She's scared because she wants to be so much more, so badly, that the thought of living in this manor for the rest of her days kills her.

She wants the ocean. Him.

Instead, she gets nightingales. She spends the evening in the aviary, leaning over the circular railing at the top of the tower and looking down at the tiled floor of the foyer, far below. The birds of her namesake sing quietly around her, cooing to each other back and forth. She gets lost in the sound.

What a lovely cage they have, she thinks. The fading desert sun beams its final rays into the circular room, dazzling the painted glass windows with red and blues and golds. The colors slant through the space. It is a perfect canvas.

The thought comes to her rather abruptly, but she knows she won't be able to leave it alone until she does something with it. So she hurries downstairs to find her paints and gets to work, strewing the dark wooden walls with bright colors as the nightingales sing around her and watch.

That's how Finnick finds her, an hour later, painting her way across the room. It's a work in progress, but the small amount that is finished is lovely. She paints the desert at night, stars dotting the sky, moonlight shining brilliantly on shining sand. Finnick's always known she has an artistic flare – she's painted the Cornelius house from top to bottom already – but he's never actually seen her with a paintbrush in hand.

It's…inspiring.

Her back is to him, hair messily twisted up. Some blonde strands curl out of the style but she doesn't seem to notice. She doesn't notice anything but the paint that she's brushing into the walls. Her fingers are stained with it. Her clothes are, too. And – she's humming. She has a nice voice. Gentle and sweet. She's singing words beneath her breath, but Finnick can't hear what she's saying.

He crosses her arms, leans against the entryway of the aviary, and watches her. She looks right at home among the birds. He thinks it's a little amusing, but not in a bad way. She looks as beautiful as ever, and his breath catches as she holds her hand out to one of the nightingales, who tilts his head at her and flies off. She laughs.

Spinning around to the paints that are strewn over the table behind her, Sil sees his figure out of the corner of her eye and freezes. She stares at him warily, like she's afraid what he might say to her. Finnick sighs at the sight.

They can't do anything right, can they? Even fall in love.

"Finnick," she murmurs, then grabs the paint she needs and spins back around so that she doesn't have to face him. As she turns back to her mural, she haltingly asks, "Did you need something? I'm sure my father can accommodate you. Or Hale, if you can find him."

He exhales slowly at the question and steps into the room. He's never been in here before, though he knew that the Cornelius estate had an aviary. Sil had mentioned it during his first visit to the mansion. He's never seen it for himself though.

Despite his curiosity, he doesn't look around to study the place. He has eyes only for her. And as he steps up behind her and curls his arms around her waist, Finnick tells her as much.

"They can't give me what I need," he whispers against the shell of her ear. She stiffens at the vulgar sound of it, and he quickly adds, "I mean – wait, let me rephrase that – "

To his surprise, Sil bursts into laughter and gives him a sideways glance. At once, the atmosphere changes. Tension drops away as if it were never there to begin with. And Finnick wonders if perhaps –  _perhaps_  they can do it right after all. Fall in love.

"No, they certainly can't," she agrees with a playful smirk, and Finnick grins.

He chuckles and rests his chin on her shoulder, watching her sweep the paintbrush across her latest canvas.

"What were you singing?" he wonders, not looking away from her fingers. There's something adorable about how they're smudged with paint.

The question has her pausing, before shortly murmuring, "Just a song my mother used to sing to me."

Silence gently cascades around them, until Finnick quietly whispers, so softly that she wouldn't have heard if he wasn't so close, "Snow didn't make me love you."

His words shock her because she isn't expecting them. Tensing, Sil stops her movements with the brush and stares at the place she was just working on silently. Finnick doesn't say anything else, only kisses her cheek slowly and pulls away.

She hears him walking away, and so in a startled twirl, Sil turns to stop him and blurts, "He didn't make me love you either."

Snow may have played a part in pushing them together. He may have forced them into matrimony and paraded them around the Capitol for his own purposes. He may have initiated the path that they are on and the emotions that they feel, but…

He had not been able to manipulate the love that she feels for the man before her. That, she knows, is all her own.

Finnick looks over at her, smiles, and tugs her toward him. She melts against him like she's coming home.

"I do. Love you I mean," he chuckles, feeling a bit boyish and silly for saying it. The look Sil sends him erases any boyish feelings he has, though. Desire takes its place.

"I do, too," she slowly says, and draws back. He lets her go, watching her curiously as she puts the paintbrush down and moves to the screened window. She looks down at the darkening mass of people waiting outside the safety of the force field, and murmurs, "But I'm not sure what's going to happen, Finnick. Plutarch tells me the Capitol is still a mess. The rebels don't know what to do without Coin. It could be days before they send men here."

He joins her by the window and sighs, wrapping her up in his arms again. This time, she leans back into him, sliding her hands over his and tangling their fingers together.

"I'm glad I'm here with you and not in the Capitol," he admits after a moment. When she gives him a confused look, he smiles, "I'd be going crazy with worry. Plus – I wouldn't get to do this."

The kiss he presses to her mouth makes her sigh. She hums against him and turns, letting him pull her into his body as his arms move to embrace her. And, against his lips, she whispers, "I'm glad you're here too, Finnick."

She's so very glad.

* * *

Sil suspects that her father's current cheerful outlook is an act. He's always worried after her, and the situation they find themselves in now is certainly not ideal. She came here to rescue him and in a way she did, but she hadn't expected that they'd be waylaid here in the heart of this mob infested city for quite so long.

She's worried about herself, too, but only because she knows that it would break her father's heart if something happened to her. After her mother was arrested, it had taken him months to smile again, and years before he returned to the mischievous, cheerful man he is today. She worries about him sometimes, secretly. Even now that her mother has returned, she still worries. There is something that feels fleeting about the peace they have created here at the estate, as if she doesn't yet have full control over the happiness that edges through her.

After a short dinner in which Sil takes her leave halfway through to speak with Dorsey, who has managed to return to the Capitol without a problem, Sil retreats to her bedroom for the evening. She would much prefer to go to Finnick, but…

She doesn't want to be presumptuous. What would he think if she just showed up at his door? She's got no idea how she's supposed to navigate an actual relationship. It isn't as if she's ever had one before.

Victors are given very few freedoms, some more than others. The popular ones – the ones the Capitol loves – are given even less. Sil was never allowed to see anyone without the President's knowledge or acceptance. It hardly mattered to her back then anyway. She'd never been interested in dating. She's had far too many things to do for  _that_  to get in her way. And as for Finnick…

Well, could she really call her time with Finnick a real relationship, when it had been fabricated for Snow's benefit? Do any of the last few months actually count? She's…not sure.

So instead of going to him, instead of following her true desires, she pulls a nightshirt on and lingers around in her bedroom. There's little to do but idle about until she's sleepy enough to go to bed, or so she thinks. As she's searching for more articles on her PAAD, a knock sounds at her door. She gets up, thinking that it is her parents saying goodnight, and opens it.

It is not her parents.

Finnick is leaning against the threshold with his hands in his pocket, looking a little unsure despite his eternally confident expression. When she peers up at him in surprise, he shuffles a bit and looks down.

"Finnick?" she murmurs. She feels breathless all of the sudden. She knows why.

He seems to hear it in her voice, because when he looks back up at her, his eyes are dark and his voice is low. "…Silver," he says, and edges forward. She doesn't stop him.

But she does open her mouth to ask him what he's doing – just to make sure she's on the same page and doesn't make a fool out of herself. He opens his mouth too, and they both halt and awkwardly chuckle.

"Go ahead," he tells her, grasping the trim on the doorway as he leans against it.

She pauses, suddenly not knowing what she had even meant to say in the first place, and flounders. He's waiting for her to speak, but instead she just moves to his body and kisses him.

With a sigh, he falls into her, arms moving to her waist immediately as his lips shift over hers. It seems to be the answer he was hoping for, because he gives her a little smile and crowds her into the room, shutting the door behind him.

As he huddles close to her, he asks, "Am I being too assertive?" But he doesn't wait for her response as he pulls at her clothes, shucking the nightshirt up around her hips so that he can feel her skin.

She's breathless but amused when she whispers, "When are you  _not?"_

He bites out a laugh that quickly gets muffled by her lips when she drags him into her again.

"I just…" he nips at her lip, "can't get enough of you…I think I'm addicted."

He pulls her forcefully against his body and her breath rattles through her at the move. His warmth surrounds her, bringing with it a feeling of safety. She tugs at his shirt and he lets her pull it over his head.

As she moves her lips to his collarbone, her hands dive down his chest urgently. It seems to surprise Finnick, who captures her hands as they start undoing his trousers. She looks up at him in confusion, only for him to raise an eyebrow at her and murmur, "Hey, what's the hurry, sugar?"

Adequately confused, Sil steps back and asks, "What do you mean? Am I going too fast?" Feeling embarrassed all of the sudden, she tries to twist her hands away from him, but he only grasps them tighter and pulls her back towards him.

With an amused chuckle, he kisses her forehead. Carefully, so as not to upset her, he says, "I want to take this slow tonight." Then, tugging at a strand of her hair and pulling it against his lips, he whispers, "Let me worship you."

She jolts at this, physically starting, and stares at him with wide eyes. Her cheeks redden at the implications of his words. She's not sure what to say.

"…I…you – what?" she stumbles, utterly speechless. Finnick smiles seductively at her and follows her as she steps back.

"What's wrong, never been worshipped by a ridiculously good looking man before?" he asks. Amusement flickers in his eyes, but Sil can only stare in baffled confusion at him.

She's not entirely sure what he even means by that, but no, she can't say she's ever been 'worshipped' before. She doesn't really know what that entails. All of her previous experiences were hasty things. She was rarely prepared for them, and she gained more pain than pleasure. She's  _given_  pleasure plenty of times. Felix had made sure she was knowledgeable about such things, but…last night had been the first time she's ever wanted sex.

Finnick looks a tiny bit concerned at her lingering silence. He pauses and slowly asks, "Sil, hasn't anyone ever…pleasured you?"

She stiffens and throws him a haughty look, taking another step back as she opens her mouth to refute his suspicion, but instead she just stands there looking kind of lost and embarrassed and  _nervous_  – and she just ends up breathlessly admitting,  _"You_  did."

He stares at her in what looks like surprise. She doesn't like it. She doesn't like it because it only makes her realize  _just_   _how_  experienced Finnick is when it comes to these things. She has no idea what she's doing, really, compared to him.

Something sparks through his eyes. He takes a step forward, effectively caging her against the wall as he murmurs, "That wasn't me pleasuring you. That was me enjoying the moment while  _you_  pleasured  _me."_

She just laughs and ducks under his arm as she says, "It's the same thing, really Finnick – "

"It isn't the same thing at all," he interrupts, catching her around the waist as she attempts to flee. He pulls her roughly back against his chest and holds her there as he asks, "So no one's ever touched you, just to satisfy you? With no ulterior motives?"

She's so extremely uncomfortable with this line of questioning that she actually feels tears prickle at the edges of her eyes. Why is he asking her this? Does he find it amusing? With a tight exhale, she struggles to get out of his arms and doesn't answer. She suddenly feels so inadequate that her heart lurches painfully in her chest.

But Finnick just holds her closer and shushes, "Sil…Silver, calm down. Please calm down…"

His soothing voice does help. She swallows tightly and asks, "Why are you so concerned about this?"

A brief silence overcomes them before Finnick slowly turns her in his arms. His jaw tightens when he sees her face, which he reaches up to touch. And, quietly, he tells her, "Because I want to show you what you've been missing. Will you let me?"

Her heart thuds. She peers up at him, nervous. He must see it, because he smiles gently down at her, stroking her hair and whispering, "You just have to say the word, and I'll stop. I swear it."

She shivers. She's completely unsure about what she's doing, but she feels herself nod at him. He smiles wider, eyes flickering with soft passion that puts her immediately at ease. She shouldn't be worried – this is  _Finnick_.

"Now," he breathes out, reaching up to push her hair over her shoulders. "Don't think about your worries or your to-do lists, okay? Tonight, I want you to think only of me."

She swallows. The nod she sends him is almost timid. He's not going to lie – it's a little arousing to know that she's entrusting herself to him like this. Vulnerability is spectacularly underrated.

He reaches up to unbutton her nightshirt. The silky fabric slides over his fingers easily, like water. She doesn't flinch when he pushes it over her shoulders. It drops to the floor with a gentle flourish, leaving her nearly bare. Finnick's heart races at the sight, arousal stirring, but he pushes it aside as he exhales and steps against her.

His hands are very gentle as they curve around her waist. He keeps one where it is, but the other dips over her in a calm exploration of skin. His lips linger near hers, but he doesn't close the space. Instead they just stand there silently, breath entwined, as Finnick slowly hooks his fingers into the waistband of her underwear. He bends down, dropping to one knee and pressing his lips to her hipbone. His tongue darts out to trace along the jut of her pelvis, and Sil's breath catches as she watches him.

He removes her last undergarment with almost reverent fingers. Hands dip beneath the fabric to squeeze her bottom before sliding around the top of her thigh and dragging the fabric very slowly down. All the while he presses kisses to her skin – stomach, hip, thigh – until Sil's heart is hammering and she's standing bare before him.

He drags his mouth slowly over her skin as he kneels there, until suddenly he pulls back and murmurs, "You never told me how you got this."

For a mere moment, Sil is lost, but then she realizes that he is tracing very gently over the scar that puckers the skin of her thigh, curling around the back of it. The abrupt question seems strange in the current atmosphere, and she just stares at him, not knowing what to say. Finnick catches her eye and chuckles. The sound drags her out of her momentary stupor.

"Oh…it was the first mission. When I got my mother out of the Capitol to bring her to District 13. I made an…error. A miscalculation." Her explanation is stunted. How could it not be? She's standing before him completely bare and he's got that fire in his eyes. Her heart is a wild mess within her and she can hardly even breathe, let alone turn her thoughts to something that seems to definitively silly at this moment. But Finnick doesn't seem to share that belief. When he leans in to press his mouth against the scar and kiss over the edge of it, he does so as if it is the most important thing he has ever and will ever do. If anything, it only makes her heart beat ever faster, and her breath ever shallower.

"A miscalculation?" he purrs. She isn't sure if he means for his voice to sound so debonair but it does. He somehow always sounds irresistible, even when he isn't trying. Right now though…well, she figures that he's trying a little more than usual, if the way his eyes flash into hers is any indication.

Brimstone and fire; the perfect mixture of rebellious temptation.

He continues kissing her even as he waits for her to speak. He takes his time. He seems perfectly content right where he is as his mouth lingers over skin.

Her breath catches. "A guard…he caught me by surprise…I – I didn't see him until it was… _Finnick – "_

She doesn't know what, exactly, she wants from him, only that she thinks she wants it all. The only problem is that she doesn't know how to go about it so she stands there not knowing what to do, just watching him with subtle hesitance as pleasure begins its slow trek through her body. He's so close to her, but he doesn't touch her the way she yearns for him to. And she does yearn for it, despite being unsure about what she should feel, or do, or say.

So she just stays silent, and does nothing, until Finnick leans back and reaches for her hands. He brings them to his lips, eyes shuddering up her figure to lock with hers. There's a soft expression on his face. It puts her at ease in ways she cannot describe with words alone.

"I've never met anyone as incredible as you," he breathes, and even though there is no explanation or reason for it, Sil's eyes fill with tears upon hearing it.

And yet – isn't there a reason? Hasn't she agonized over whether he would accept her fully, every last part of her, for months now? Hasn't she spent an endless amount of days worrying over something as silly and as inconceivable as him not loving her? It hadn't been silly to her then, but now it is. Everything has changed, but for some reason she hadn't felt it quite so starkly before. Now, though…

Slowly standing up, Finnick pushes a strand of hair out of her face and cups her cheeks, thumbs brushing over her cheekbones as he guides her lips to his. The kiss he gives her then is as soft as the rest of the atmosphere, and she starts to sink into him – until a loud noise from outside makes them both stiffen.

Sil glances toward the windows with a wary look, wondering what's happening out there. The mob that's gathered outside the estate only seems to grow during the nighttime hours, as if they are dead set on disturbing every single sliver of peace from wakefulness to sleep.

Finnick sighs and turns her face back to him. "Don't listen to them," he tells her. He knows that she's afraid, though she tries her best to hide it. He had seen the burning pyre too, the one dressed up to mimic her, and anyone would be concerned about such a sight.

She grasps his shoulders tightly and murmurs, "They're so loud…" It's impossible  _not_  to listen to them. Their shouts are constant and uproarious, and only seem to get louder as night creeps in.

He smooths a hand up and down her back, studying her features in the dim light.

"So listen to me instead," he whispers, and sends her a grin as he scoops her up.

She's unprepared for the movement, and for the way he drops her unceremoniously onto her bed. A surprised gasp leaves her throat before she can rein it in. She pushes herself up immediately, but he just smirks and pushes her back down with a drawled, "Not so fast, sugar. You're at my mercy tonight."

He smirks widely as he shucks off his trousers, revealing almost every inch of his bronzed skin. He seems to glow in the dim light of the room, as if he is made of wayward stars. The desire behind his words – the way he looks at her with that fire – it makes her blush and shudder out a breathless exhale as she peers up at him.

" _Your_  mercy?" she repeats with an arrogant edge to her voice. Finnick just smirks down at her, and she loses her breath entirely.

He crawls between her legs, shucking them around his waist and leaning over her as he quips, "Like I said, I'm gonna show you what you've been missing."

The words make her freeze. She blushes prettily as she raises herself up onto her elbows and stares at him. Gracious, but those words could make even the strongest woman weak. She feels boneless at the mere thought of what his words entail. Adrenaline spikes through her; fire settles in her veins.

He gives her a slightly leering smile and dips his head to her lips, pushing her back onto the pillows with a gentle force that makes her gasp. His body lowers onto hers. The weight is blissful, and despite the fact that he is still wearing his briefs, she can feel the hard press of him against the apex of her thigh and it spurs a storm through her body.

This time when he kisses her, it is less soft and more passionate. His tongue dips against hers. His teeth nip at her lower lip. His mouth expertly winds her into a mess as his hand lowers to her breast and massages it between his fingers. And she really is a mess, by the time he begins kissing down her neck and over her chest. Her body is in blissful disarray – a mismatch of passion and nerves and arousal that seem to have no beginning and no end.

Finnick is very good at this. She supposes she can't be too surprised. When he sucks at the soft tip of her breast and palms her chest with masterful fingers, she can only grasp his shoulders and sigh. He takes his time with her. It seems that he is as entranced as she is, as he makes his way over her form and presses kisses everywhere.

Her arms, her stomach, her breasts, her shoulder – he doesn't seem to be following a set course. It is more of a wave that dips and shudders and breaks over a shore, with no sense of time or age.

His hands drift over her, too, squeezing and massaging her flesh until she turns into a boneless mass of relaxed limbs. He seems to be making it his priority, in a way, to ensure that he reaches every part of her. His hands knead her flesh, following a different pattern than his lips, but he avoids the one part of her that aches for his touch most of all.

But despite aching for him, Sil finds herself quite wary when he begins pressing a blazing trail of kisses down her hip. His body, which had been strewn beside hers in his meandering pursuit of her, now sinks lower. Her breath catches at the sight, and she doesn't even think as she props herself up and abruptly pushes herself back into the headboard.

Finnick clearly doesn't expect the move. His expression, which had been composed with gentle lust and soft desire, now transforms into confusion. He studies her figure for a long minute that makes her want to drown, before rocking back onto his knees and carefully asking, "What's wrong?"

Her throat closes up. She doesn't answer. Instead she flicks her eyes away from him and awkwardly tries to speak.

When she fails to give him an explanation, Finnick pleads softly, "You have to tell me, Sil. I can't fix it if I don't know."

Memories of the last time a man had been where Finnick was heading erupts through her mind. The relaxed atmosphere of room shatters in the wake of it.

"…I'd rather you not…do that…" is all she says, haltingly, like she's not fully present. She still doesn't look at him, and he's beginning to suspect that there is more to this than meets the eye. Sil rarely acts like this.

Knowing that he needs to tread carefully around this unknown variable, Finnick scoots up the bed to lay a hand gently on her leg. The touch seems to bring her out of whatever memory she's in, and she turns to glance at him.

In a quiet voice, he asks, "Why not?"

The sense of safety overwhelms her again, just knowing that it is  _Finnick_  here with her. She swallows and hesitantly explains, "Felix, he would…he was really rough with me sometimes. I think he liked seeing me…in pain, and – Finnick – "

There's a stormy look on his face now, but it doesn't make her afraid. She knows it's there because he is angry at the man who has haunted her these past seven years. Finnick exhales unevenly and grasps her leg tighter.

"I'll wring his neck for making you suffer," he mutters furiously, looking entirely serious. Sil gives him a barely-there smile and puts a hand on his.

"It's okay, Finnick – "

"It's  _not_  okay," he cuts her off, turning those stormy eyes to hers. She stumbles in the wake of that storm, chest heaving as she grapples with his hand with clawing fingers. Not knowing how to respond, she just stares at him.

Finnick turns his body to hers and earnestly tells her, "I'll never hurt you, Sil."

She swallows tightly and responds, "I know."

And she does. She knows it with every fiber of her being. She always has.

There's a blaze of determination scorching through his eyes when he quietly murmurs, "Then let me…let me do this for you.  _Properly."_

The suggestion makes her jaw clench. He watches her with understanding eyes, but his expression is still set with that determination. He doesn't want to let this go. She's caught between feeling an intense endearment towards his reaction and an equally intense wariness.

Shuffling forward, he edges closer and cups her face, "It will feel  _good_. I promise. I want you to feel good."

Face inches from hers, Finnick rests his forehead against her and thumbs her cheek, waiting patiently while she struggles with two very opposing desires. After a long moment, Sil whispers, "You don't have to do this, Finnick. You never have to do anything you don't want to ever again."

She's referring to his clients, to the forced intimacy that has plagued him since his Games. Lord knows how much he's suffered. How weary the soul must become, when it is reduced to little more than a service to be shuttled around from bed to bed. But – to her surprise, Finnick merely chuckles as if her words amuse him.

She stares, bewildered, until he tilts her head up to kiss her, and says against her lips, "I can't even tell you how much I  _want_  to do this, Silver. I've wanted to do this for  _months."_

The admission utterly shocks her.

"…Months?" she repeats in astonishment. He laughs.

"You have no idea what you do to me, do you?" he questions rhetorically. He's silent for a moment, weighing something in his mind, until he murmurs, "Last night was the best night of my life. Don't laugh, I'm being serious," he adds when he sees the way her mouth pushes up.

She stares at him and tangles her fingers with his as they rest on her leg. Finnick just watches her and whispers, "Snow used me for so long, Sil. I've been with more people than I can count, and every one of them stole a part of me that I couldn't get back – or I thought I couldn't, anyway, until you came into my life and…last night you made me feel things I've never felt before, with anyone else."

A burst of passion colors her with abrupt strokes, like a paintbrush streaking across a blank canvas and staining it with bright pigment. She swallows at the intensity of it. At the earnest way Finnick looks at her. At the confession that his words unveil.

She has little understanding of the agony he has experienced in those hotel rooms, but she understands it more than most.

Finnick kisses her corner of her mouth and asks, "Do you trust me?"

She could cry at the question. Instead she just breathes out and thickly tells him, "Of course I do."

He lips curve up into a slow smile at the adamant words. He kisses her again, briefly, before pulling back and sliding his hands over her thighs.

"Then will you let me do this for you?" he slowly inquires, voice rife with the low tones of desire. She shivers at the sound and feels herself nod. Gracious.

With a heave of muscle, Finnick pulls her down the mattress abruptly and thumbs over her hipbones, peering into her eyes as he hovers over her prone form. The heat of desire thunders through him at the sight she makes, but it is nothing compared to what is to come.

When he shuffles down to deposit a kiss to her inner thigh, Sil shivers. When he curls his hands around her legs and pushes them gently down against the mattress, she bites her lip and watches him. And when he begins to lightly pull his kisses from her thigh to her core, the breathless gasping moan Sil whimpers out makes him grit his teeth against a harsh wave of lust as it threatens to overtake him.

He's quite experienced with the female form. He knows exactly what to do and exactly what pace to do it at. He darts his tongue out to give her a long lick, flattening it against her clit and humming against her. She wriggles at the move, hips trying to buck up as arousal spins a dizzying dance into her skin. But Finnick just chuckles lowly and pushes her hips back down, and the force of it is nearly as arousing as the way his tongue moves.

Her wariness disappears like a sharp swoop of wind that lingers only half a second before it is gone. At once, Sil can think of nothing but him. The way he drags her folds into his mouth and sucks, the way he licks at her and circles his tongue around the top of her clit, the way he clenches his hand around her thigh and lays one flat against her stomach, rubbing circles into her skin as he devours her.

This feels  _nothing_  like Felix's touch. This feels nothing like she's  _ever_  felt before in her life.

Moans begin pouring from her. She can't stop them, so she bites her lip hard as she twists on the mattress, whimpering with a pleasure that gets more intense with every second. The sight she makes is incredible – Finnick thinks he's never been more aroused than he is now. He squeezes her thigh with desperate fingers as his arousal heightens with an almost profound singularity.

He's wrong, of course – his desire only builds when he slips his fingers over her clit and massages her. And the heaving sob that flies from her lips makes his entire body smolder with an erotic need that takes him so off guard, he can only moan against her. His moan only makes her even crazier, it seems, for she flounders there on the mattress, panting and whimpering like she's seconds from caving.

Well, that's no fun. He pauses, slows his movement to push himself up to look at her. His fingers gently caress her, sliding against her folds with soft intent, but the lack of further stimulation makes Sil frown at him and demand, "Why'd you stop?"

He shivers at the way her voice ricochets with lust. Breathing out hard, Finnick swallows back a wave of desire and sends her a smirk.

"…I didn't," is all he mutters, and pushes a finger inside her.

He has the perfect view of her face as he starts thrusting. Her expression melts. She looks like she's struggling between pleasure and agony, and he knows why. His touch isn't enough, but the thought of teasing her just a little is far too tempting to pass up. Not when he's got her like this – a whimpering mess laid out before him.

He adds another finger and slides his other hand to thumb very slowly around the top of her clit. Kneeling between her legs, Finnick watches, entranced, at the effect his touch has on her. It's spectacularly intense in a way that makes it difficult for him to breathe.

She's a panting wreck of splintered passion and desperate desire. Her chest heaves, rising and falling as she tries and fails to catch her breath. It is forever lost, it seems, in between the cadences of his fingers. Every thrust and spin of them makes her more and more desperate.

"Finnick – " she pleads, writhing beneath him. "Finn – "

He knows what she wants, but he's not quite ready to give in. With a smile dark with desire and lust, he slides his fingers out of her. The despairing whimper she sends him in return makes fire blaze through his eyes as they flash to hers.

"Shh…" he whispers, lowering himself back down and wasting very little time with resuming his previous activities. The earnest way he begins to lick at her again, coupled with the thrusting movement of his fingers, has Sil gasping and hurtling forward, hands reaching blindly for him. She tangles her fingers into his hair, tugs at his head, writhes under his ministrations until she can only moan and keen and melt into the mattress.

He tips her over the edge so completely that Sil forgets everything except him. She forgets that there is a huge mob of angry District 1 citizens just outside her house. She forgets that the Capitol is a mess and that the future is unknown to them. She forgets even where she is and what she is and who she is. There is only one thing that scorches through her thoughts and drags them down like leaden weights.

Finnick.

Finnick.

Finnick.

She doesn't even realize she's moaning his name until the feverish, incessant waves of pleasure begin to fade to a more manageable degree, and Sil becomes aware of everything she had momentarily forgotten. But – caught up in the blissful relief of satisfaction like no other, she can only lay there blindly and gasp in the wake of the sheer desire Finnick had cultivated within her.

She has never felt so amazing.

A low chuckle reverberates through the room, and Sil opens her eyes with a start. Finnick is hovering over her, studying her with a pleased look in his eye, as if he's intensely proud to have been the one to do this to her. She blushes at him and clears her throat, but when she inches away, Finnick just grins wolfishly and tugs her back.

"I certainly hope you don't think I'm finished with you, sugar," he says smoothly, and chuckles at the way she turns to stare at him with open mouthed shocked.

Her words get stuck in her throat when he leans back to tug at his briefs. Her eyes follow every move he makes with a singular focus that makes him crazy, especially when the familiar drag of desire shoots through her gaze as he slides the briefs off his hips. He's far from finished.

"Oh…" is all she says, and he can't help the laugh from spilling from his lips at her reaction. Sil grins too, a bashful twist of her mouth, and pushes a hand through her tangled hair.

" _Oh,"_  he responds with a quick smile, tossing the briefs over the edge of the bed before crawling up her figure.

Despite the fact that he has just given her the best finish she's ever had, Sil feels desire take a firm hold of her once more. The mere sight of him makes her crazy – and at once, she can't breathe again, and she can't think of anything but him. Always him.

He falls against her without a word, lips seeking hers. He kisses her with an intense sort of reverence that makes her shudder against him. He grasps her and pulls her onto her side, flinging her leg over his waist and pressing his length against her heat. She shudders all over again, moaning lightly into the kiss as she feels him enter her.

He doesn't moan, but the sharp exhale that leaves his throat is enough to make her ache for him. He grips her hips tightly with one arm. The other, he props up as he hovers over her.

His hips tremble into hers. Though his desire tries to push him faster, Finnick takes his time here, too. Pressing down the urgency of his need takes far more willpower than he thought he had, but he sticks by what he had said before. Tonight he will worship her.

He does. His thrusts are reverent, astoundingly deferential. She can feel it in the smooth shift of his hips as he pushes himself into her. She can see it in his eyes as he stares down at her with a despair that creates a specific brand of beautiful torment made only for lovers.

She moves against him too. Her body seems to have a mind of its own where he is concerned. Her hips tumble against his, and every time he pushes deeper into her, she trembles in his arms. All the while he smooths his touch over her form, petting her side, grasping her bottom, smoothing his fingers up her spine. She feels like she's in a dream, almost. The moment is so perfect it doesn't feel real. But it is, and when the soft desire builds into an inferno, Sil buries her head against his neck and clings to him as he guides them to an end that is far more poignant than any she could have dreamt up.

And then, as their bodies still and the heat that licks at her skin dies, Sil can only lay there in his arms and breathe around the festering love she feels brimming up inside her.

She never thought this would be possible. Loving him like this. She never thought he'd love her back.

He silently readjusts their bodies, rolling onto his back and pulling her against him as their hearts quiet from their thunderous beats. Fingers idly stroke over her shoulders, as if he can't not touch her. She closes her eyes and, against the skin of his neck, whispers very quietly,  _"Thank you."_

She's not sure exactly what she's thanking him for. Everything and nothing. Months and moments. But he seems to understand. Turning to kiss her forehead, he breathes out and smiles. She feels the press of it against her and smiles back.

If this is love, then she is so completely unprepared at falling into its depths – and at the same time, so very ready to fall ever further.


	62. Nor does it find purchase in the

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which everything comes crashing down.
> 
> The last few chapters broke away a bit from the action and drama, but we can't focus exclusively on Finnick and Sil's relationship and not on anything else, so this chapter will be changing things up. I hope you all enjoy this update!

 

**Chapter Sixty Two | Nor does it find purchase in the**

" _Then she felt that a pair of warm, thin, talon-like hands took hold of both her own, and held them in a grip of steel." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

Finnick has woken up in strange rooms countless times. It's more of a normality for him than he wants to admit. But – when his eyes flutter open the next morning and he looks up at painted clouds and swooping birds winging over the ceiling, he figures that this is something he could get used to. If waking up in Sil's grand, luxurious bed becomes a normality, then he is perfectly fine with it.

To his dismay, Sil is not in the scene though. The place beside him is empty of her presence, the sheets ruffled from her removal. He thinks it's a great shame that he doesn't get the chance to kiss her awake, but his heart whispers at him that he'll get another opportunity. He'll make sure of that.

Her bedroom is truly wonderous, in a way that reflects the inward beauty of an open soul. The desert sun is already brimming up in the horizon and it pools against the polished cherry floors like wisps of curtailed smoke. Sil must have opened the sun-blocking drapes during her perusal of the space, for as he sits up in the soft sheets, he sees that she has tidied the room up. The sight of his folded clothes sitting smugly on her vanity bench makes him smirk.

He stretches and gets up, throwing the sheets off and walking over to the window in all his nude glory. There are still people lingering beyond the force field about a hundred feet around the perimeter, but it seems that their numbers have dwindled in the light of morning. Perhaps they've realized that they're just wasting their time here. He can only hope. Their presence is a constant reminder that all is not yet well – that they have not yet reached safety.

As he turns to study the rest of her room in greater detail, Finnick catches the sound of the shower behind a closed door. He idles for a moment, a bit unsure as he stares at the ornate crystal doorknob. To be perfectly honest, this whole relationship thing – or whatever it is they're doing – is new to him, too.

He hadn't really known what Sil's reaction would be when he appeared at her door the night before. All he knew was that the thought of sleeping alone suddenly felt harrowing, despite it being the one thing he's yearned for since he won his Games. Her reaction to his presence though…

He smirks wildly and runs a hand through his hair. Last night was a night he doubts he'll ever forget.

Mind made up, Finnick turns the doorknob and lets himself into the bathroom. The moment he steps in, he does a doubletake at the opulence of it. It's nearly as charming as the rest of her bedroom, with primly tiled floors and gleaming silver furnishings. It's huge, and lavished with all sorts of expensive looking things from toiletries to the gauzy curtains encompassing two long, floor length windows. Even the toilet looks expensive.

He's caught off guard for a moment at the display of wealth. It's reminiscent of the Capitol in a way but holds an aristocratic bearing that offsets it and pushes it onto a different level altogether. He supposes that he shouldn't be surprised. The Cornelius estate is an unmatched example of District 1 elegance at its finest.

In any case, he doesn't linger long to study the place before his attention is drawn to the impressive shower on the other end of the room, in which he can just make out the figure of Sil amidst the steam that curls along the glass walls of it.

He grins and heads for it. When he pulls the door open with an air of total confidence and shocks Sil into twirling around with a gasp, he can't help but laugh.

"Morning, sugar," he purrs, stepping into the water. He closes the door firmly behind him but doesn't take his eyes off of her. She stares right back with a strange look on her face. After studying it for a moment, he realizes that it's carefully tempered desire, and his smirks only grows.

He slowly peruses her figure and he crosses his arms, eyeing her carefully as memories of last night pepper his thoughts. The sight she had made beneath him, the way she had trembled into his body and moaned his name…a subtle stir of desire clings to him, and he steps towards with it blazing over his face.

Sil lets out a faint gasping sound and throws herself back, holding out her arms to block him. With a voice full of arousal, she tells him, "Gracious Finnick, I don't want to be late for breakfast again! Yesterday was  _dreadful!"_

He only snickers in response and hooks his arms around her anyway, heaving her against his body despite her halfhearted protests.

"Sil," he starts, chuckling as he spins his hands over her wet skin, "after the sounds you made last night, I really doubt anyone even  _expects_  to see us for breakfast."

At this, she blushes bright red and he bursts out in laughter. He really can't help it, even when she glowers at him and huffs. But – she stays right where she is, careening into his arms with a shiver.

"I wasn't that loud," she argues. At least, she really hopes she wasn't. Gracious.

Finnick just leers at her and moans against her ear in what she supposes is a replication of her the night before. "Finnick –  _Finnick!"_  he teases as he squeezes her waist playfully.

To her horror, his teasing only serves to inspire more desire to shudder against her heart, and she clenches down on his arms with tight fingers.

"Oh yes, right there!" he says in a high-pitched voice that sounds nothing like her own, making her blush even harder. He shakes with laughter.

Now a little more annoyed than aroused and quite thankful for it, Sil rolls her eyes and pushes him away with a muttered, "I did  _not_  say that."

She snidely ignores him as she grabs the soap off the rack and lathers it up in her hands daintily. He just leans against the tiled wall and watches her with a wide smirk.

"The sound of you moaning my name was music to my ears, sugar," he quips after a moment, just to see the blush that he knows will continue to spread over her face. It does, and he snickers.

The glowering look she sends him only makes him want to tease her even more, but before he gets the chance, Sil steps up to him, pushing her body into his and massaging soap into his chest and shoulders. He falls silent at the move, enjoying her touch a little too much to break the moment for now.

"Finnick darling," she murmurs, hands dipping down to his waist and hips. He swallows thickly at both her meandering hands as well as the way she says his name – brazen desire roiling through every syllable. With a simper that tells him she knows exactly what she's doing to him and enjoying every last second of it, Sil says, "You really ought to be careful, you know. If you keep teasing me like this, I'm bound to start returning the favor."

Her fingers dip lower, edging over the tops of his thighs. She starts to drag them inward and he hurries to grasp them before she can do any permanent damage. With a rough exhale, he swiftly steps forward and pushes her against the tiled wall, lunging in to kiss her because he can't help himself.

She kisses him back with a force that surprises him a little, but really, he doesn't complain as he crowds against her and hooks her leg around his waist.

"Mm – I meant what I said about breakfast!" she gasps when she feels his hand curl around her hip. But really, she doesn't complain either when he cups her sex and rubs his fingers in firm circles over her clit.

"You're… _insatiable_ …" she moans breathlessly, and her head falls back against the wall with a thud.

He leers down at her with a wide smirk, desire thundering its way through his body as he watches her through half lidded eyes.

"Just making up for lost time," he responds in a reasonable tone, but she can hear the dark tone of passion dragging his voice down and it makes her shiver like a leaf caught in a hurricane.

Well. She can make up for lost time, too. She fearlessly reaches for his length and, when she curls her fingers around him and properly gets back at him, Finnick groans and rolls his hips into her hand.

"Sil," he growls, clutching her leg with desperate fingers as his hand works at her with quick, measured movements that soon turn messy. And she returns it all with long jerks of her hand, moving from the base of him to the tip in a manner that matches his pace perfectly.

Wild, unfettered, and desperate.

She lifts her head to kiss him, and he sinks down into her lips like a blind man bereft of light. Breathing heavily against her, Finnick holds himself against the wall and her, moving his arm above her head to brace himself. His lips spin over hers with a throaty chuckle.

She's right – he  _is_  insatiable. He can hardly blame himself though. He's been struggling to come to terms with his feelings for her for so long. When he realized that Sil isn't the foppish idiot she's made him believe for  _years_ , it had been so much easier to admit that he loves her. And at that point…well. He's been yearning for her in more ways than one, even before he found out who she really is.

Now that he has her all to himself, he's not going to take that for granted.

"I've never done this in the shower," he tells her with a smirk as their kiss dissolves. He circles her clit with a heavy movement and watches her eyes flutter. In retribution, she squeezes his tip gently and thumbs over it. His breathing gets rougher and her smirk gets wider to match him. He can't get enough of her.

"Never?" she questions, chest heaving as she begins to feel the numbing pulse of her finish burst through her. Her hips jerk forward of their own accord, rubbing against his hand desperately as her breathing tangles with his. The movement makes his eyes darken.

"Mm. You gonna come for me, sugar?" he asks lowly, spinning his fingers faster. The brazen question has her raising her eyes to his in shocked desire.

It sounds so dirty and erotic that she clings to him harder, tips her head back, and moans, "Yes – "

Her moan gets cut off by his lips as he abruptly kisses her, pressing her against the wall with a moan of his own as she comes undone in his arms. He watches every second of it with delirious eyes made darker by the pull of his own desperate need. She's so  _perfect_. Every breathless sound that leaves her mouth makes him crazy.

He draws her to a finish before tearing his hand away from her to wrap his fingers around hers. And, jerking her hand faster over his length, Finnick shifts his hips against her and groans, fisting his hand against the tiled wall as he drags himself to his own end.

Sil just stares wide eyed at the sight he makes, awed at the way he unfurls in front of her. She doesn't know what it is, exactly – the light of day, the different atmosphere, the water droplets on his skin or the desperate manner in which he guides her hand over him – but he looks so incredibly…

Gracious. She doesn't even have a word.

With a groan, he slows his movements and buries his face into her neck, falling against her and the wall as his knees buckle. She lets out a short exclamation because she's afraid he might pull them both to the hard floor, and quickly wraps her arms around him.

Then, biting her lip to stop herself from laughing, she murmurs, "Gracious Finnick. That was…" she trails off and he grunts in agreement. The sound gets muffled against her shoulder.

"You did a number on me," he tells her, pushing himself up so that he's half leaning against the wall and half standing.

Sil snorts at him, hands falling away. She tucks them behind her back as she leans between his arms and admits, "So did you."

He laughs and pushes forward to kiss her briefly before righting himself and giving her a playful smirk, "This wasn't my intention you know. I just wanted to clean myself up."

She rolls her eyes at him. "Mmhmm," she agrees doubtfully. He grins at her and grabs the bar of soap.

"Well if you're gonna be like that…" he makes a face at her and tips his head back to drench his hair. At once, the bronze waves darken several shades. She stares at him, enchanted by the way his body stretches back. She wants to kiss every flex of muscle.

Raising an eyebrow at her, Finnick purrs, "Like what you see, sugar?"

She sighs out with a growing smile and says, "Very much so."

The honesty in her voice has him chuckling. "Well I am the most attractive man in Panem after all. According to Capitol Weekly anyway."

She scoffs, "Yes, and they know everything, don't they?"

Finnick gives her an innocent look and shrugs. She only chuckles at him.

She's never known intimacy to be so easy before. She really was missing out.

* * *

Later on, Sil pulls on some black trousers and a silk button down shirt which falls over her figure demurely. She hurries out of her room before Finnick can pull her back into one of his spectacular kisses – for which he has been wont to do every time she attempts to leave – and checks her PAAD for messages as she trails down the hall to the kitchen. Her inbox is full to bursting and she feels a little guilty for not looking sooner. In all fairness to herself, Finnick is extremely distracting, especially when he decides that clothing is optional.

She has several messages from both Dorsey and Plutarch, as well as notifications regarding news articles that she gets sent to her PAAD upon their release. She opens Plutarch's messages first, reading through them with growing relief. The Capitol is under control, order restored, and Plutarch has stepped in as interim President until a proper vote can be cast. With him at the helm of the rebel army, things seem to be running a lot smoother. He informs her that he'll be sending soldiers to contain the atmosphere in District 1 by tomorrow at the latest, once he can wrap up a few loose threads regarding Katniss Everdeen.

Her presence in the Capitol is both a good thing and a bad thing to the now restless rebels from District 13. On the one hand, she is the Mockingjay – the face of the rebellion and the person Panem admires and looks up to. On the other, she is the one who ended Coin's life, effectively choosing Snow over her. Her actions have tipped the scales radically, and Plutarch is working on getting her back to District 12 as fast as he can, for the time being. It's safer for her there.

Sil hopes the girl is alright. All the Victors have suffered their fair share of pain, and Katniss is no different. Going home is the best thing right now, until full order can be administered to Panem. Sil just wishes she could feel at home, too, but it's impossible to feel completely safe in her own manor for the time being. Until the mob atmosphere in District 1 is dealt with, she will not feel safe here.

As she enters the kitchen and helps herself to a glass of orange juice, Sil pulls up Dorsey's messages. He tells her much the same thing – that Plutarch will be sending help very soon, that she only needs to wait a little longer, and that she should take care of herself. His concern makes her smile. In some ways, Dorsey has acted as a second father figure to her. He looks out for her.

She runs into Tommy on her way to see her father. Her agent and friend takes one look at her and grins widely. There's a mischievous glint in his eye that makes her stop in her tracks and peer at him warily.

"Finnick must be  _really_  good," is all it takes for Sil's face to implode into a bright red blush.

" _Gracious,"_  she mutters, waving a hand over her face to cool it down.

Tommy just smirks and shrugs, "Figured as much."

She gapes at him for half a second before rushing passed him down the hall. He laughs out loud and calls in a teasing voice, "I could hear you moaning from downstairs!"

She's very glad he can't see her face, because her blush severely deepens at this. She quickens her pace, but escaping this new brand of horror is rather difficult when every single person in the house seems to share Tommy's knowledge. The smirks and nudges she receives from her agents are very common. Even her  _father_  smirks widely at her when he sees her. One look at her blushing face is enough to send him into a fit of laughter.

" _Father,"_  she reprimands halfheartedly. The gentle scold makes him quiet down somewhat, but there's still a mischievous glint to his eye as he looks at her.

"I really hope you're being careful, Silver," he says, partially serious despite his teasing tone. "I'm not ready for grandchildren yet."

She pats her face at this and groans. Children? Gracious!

Finnick doesn't make things any easier, not that this particularly surprises her. He's a bit more genteel around her father, but he doesn't bother hiding his leering smiles or playful winks throughout the day, which come regularly and without mercy. He even slaps her bum when she passes him on her way to the kitchens during lunch, in full view of Tommy. The snort of laughter that leaves Tommy's throat at the sight of her glowering blush only annoys her even more.

Naturally, she decides to do something about it.

The next time he tries to give her a playful slap, she turns right around, grabs a hold of his collar, and shoves him into the wall. He's so shocked that he lets himself be pushed, too surprised to stop her.

"Finnick," she purrs, pressing herself against him without heed of any watchful eyes. She fists his shirt tightly, skims her mouth under his jaw, and whispers, "If you don't cease with your racy treatment of me, I will never let you into my bedroom again."

She nips roughly at his jaw and shoves herself away from him before he can so much as blink. And, leaving him melting against the wall with a look of pent up desire on his face, Sil prances down the hallway without a backward glance.

Her warning seems to have worked – slightly. The next time she sees him, he sends her a look that gives her a pretty good idea of what he'd like to do to her, but he keeps his face free of his leers and winks, and he doesn't try anything else.

It certainly doesn't stop her agents from teasing her, but after a while she just rolls her eyes at their constant smirks and ignores the lot of them. Honestly.

After dinner, Gemma passes around a very high-end liquor that he's 'been saving for the right occasion'. Sil isn't sure what he means by that, but the wink he sends her makes it rather clear, much to her consternation.

The boisterous mob outside the Cornelius estate only grows as the night creeps in. Fires pop up outside, dotting the landscape with unorthodox despondency. She's not used to this trapped feeling. Not in this place. She hopes Plutarch stays true to his word and sends soldiers in as soon as he can.

Her agents join them for a drink in the southern living room. Gemma, as always, boosts the mood by cracking jokes and cheerfully engaging them all in conversation. When he hears that Marcus is somewhat talented at the piano, he has him take a seat at the beautiful instrument that is perched over in the corner. Soon, the room spins with the upbeat melody of a particularly fast paced song, and Gemma drags Sil to the center of the ornate rug to dance with him. She can't help but laugh as he spins her around. The music drowns out the ever-present sound of the cacophony outside.

When Marcus's piece comes to a rearing finish, he amicably gestures for Gemma to take his place. Gemma is quite musically inclined, so he naturally accepts. As Gemma replaces Marcus at the piano with a pat on his shoulder, Sil turns to watch her father begin a piece with a flourish of his fingers. Rather than the upbeat tunes that had just filled the room, he starts to play a piece that immediately catches the attention of Finnick, who furrows his brow in concentration as he tries to place the memory that it stirs to life.

"Liebestraum," he suddenly says, turning to Sil to see if he's right. Her smile widens.

He chuckles and murmurs, "Funny how this song keeps following us around, isn't it?"

She just hums and leans into him. With a pleased smile, Finnick reaches up to sling an arm around her, bringing her closer. A few of the agents chuckle at them, but Sil is too lost in the familiar embrace of the song to notice.

Gemma is very talented at the piano. He plays it as if he's plucking the notes from the air itself, gently crescendoing up into a trickle of notes as the music deepens and gets louder. Finnick remembers Sil telling him that her father plays this song rather well, but she clearly wasn't doing him justice. Gemma is masterful – so much so that Finnick doubts he's ever heard the like.

He's not so very surprised, though several months ago he'd be shocked. Besides the loud obnoxious tunes played at the Capitol functions he'd often frequent during his time in the city, the only music he's familiar with is the faced paced fiddling that many of the sailors and dock workers know in District 4. But the Cornelius family is far more aristocratic than the people back home. Their estate is a world of their own, and they fill it with beautiful things – music included, it seems.

As Gemma trickles through the notes at the top of the piano, bridging the gap between high and low, Finnick recalls the words Sil had used, once upon a time, to describe the song.

She said something about how it was a forbidden romance…like a dream you try to hold onto, but it keeps slipping away…

He tightens his hold on her. The memory makes his heart clench for some reason. He doesn't believe in fate or circumstance. His whole life has been one choreographed number after another. But there is something tickling at him now – a whisper of fortune as it spins, reverberating along to the piano notes like the errant beating of a wayward heart.

Gemma gently brings the piece to a finish, and Finnick shakes the feeling off as he looks down at the woman in his arms. She has her eyes closed, as if she's dreaming a dream that is slipping away from her, too.

And it does slip away, the moment Gemma finishes the piece. At the final note, the lights flicker, and Sil opens her eyes, sitting up and pushing away from Finnick. Everyone in the room looks up at the flickering lights in confusion, until –

The entire estate shuts down as the power shudders and the house erupts in darkness.

There is an immediate hurry to stand up as eyes adjust to the sudden blackness that shrouds the room. Gemma calls out for her, but Sil just walks to the far window, drags open the heavy drapes, and lets the moonlight in.

With a jolt of horror burning in her heart, she realizes that the force field is down. The familiar buzz of it has fallen silent, and the people outside seem to have realized it as well. Her breath catches as she watches people begin to pour towards the manor, fists raised and pumping. She exhales sharply.

She is no fool.

They are coming for her.

She twirls around to find Finnick, but he's already there, gathering her up in his arms as he stares at the approaching mob with a dark look on his face. And she just holds onto him, because something inside her screams that this embrace may very well be their last.

Behind her, there is a general bustling as the room rights itself.

"The generators, Hale – let's get them on," Gemma immediately orders, and the two of them hurry from the room. Sil is still hanging onto Finnick with desperate fingers, staring at the mob that is quickly approaching her house, so Tommy steps in and rushes Marcus and the others out of the room too, to arm themselves more adequately. It takes Finnick less than a second to follow, pulling Sil along with an almost bruising force, for she has still not quite come to terms with the sudden situation they find themselves in.

"Come on," he tells her urgently, wrapping an arm around her waist and dragging her behind him. She goes, huddling against the warmth of his body as he pulls her down the dark hall. They can barely see, so blind they are in this total blackness that has infiltrated her once starlit, dreamy world. But there is nothing dreamy about it now – it is only nightmarish and destitute.

"There's a gun safe in the workroom," Sil says aloud, finally regaining her voice. It comes out slow and unsteady despite this.

They head downstairs, quickly skimming down the iron wrought stairs. Sil pushes forward to take the lead, hand still grasping Finnick's as she throws her shoulders back and rushes down a short flight of stairs to where the workroom is located. They enter it, and Sil hurries to a large safe that's pushed into one of the corners, leaning in to input her passcode.

As she opens it and starts passing firearms around, she turns to Finnick and staunchly says, "Don't leave my side."

He takes a gun into his hands and quips, "As if you could ever make me."

The smile she sends him then is determined and bold. She has put another of her masks on, and the Sterling Nightingale stares back at him with brazen resolution.

"Even if my father gets the generators back on, we'll still have a fight," Sil says as they head to the foyer. The others enter first, heading to the windows to check the progress of the mob. Sil swings into the room last, saying, "Tommy, take a few men and – "

Her voice suddenly falters, and they all turn to look back at her. What they see makes their hearts jolt in their chests.

Felix. He's standing behind Sil with a lurching grin on his face, and he's holding a gun to her head.

The unexpected sight of him is so shocking that all they can do is stand there with their mouths hanging open as the mob of angry District 1 citizens come rushing closer and closer. Finnick catches her eye desperately, hands forming fists at his sides. It takes a tremendous amount of willpower not to rush forward, but he knows that any sudden movement could have dire consequences.

"I guess in light of everything you've been up to, you must not have realized that the fancy security protocols you've installed were the very ones keeping me locked up in your wine cellar," Felix laughs, turning his head towards Sil. His lips brush her hair as he speaks, arm tight around her shoulders as he grasps her to his body.

She has a frantic look on her face. Locking eyes with Finnick, Sil breathes out and remains silent.

"I can't blame you for not thinking about it," Felix shrugs, leering down at his captive. "I mean, you have been pretty busy whoring yourself out, haven't you? Tell me, Silver, does he fuck you the way I do? I'm so  _curious."_

Finnick can't help it – he steps forward furiously. It's a mistake. Felix shoves the gun harder against Sil's temple and wraps a hand around her throat tightly, peering over at Finnick with a smirking expression.

"During the last few days I've spent rotting away in your cellar, I've decided something, Silver," he murmurs to her, lips brushing her cheek. She holds her breath when he slowly says, "I'm not going to kill you immediately. I think I'll have some fun with you first. Seven years trying to locate the Sterling Nightingale adds up to a  _lot_  of pent up frustration, you know."

She flinches at this, knowing all too well what he's alluding to. She's not the only one who is disgusted though.

"If you lay a single hand on her I swear I'll give you a fate worse than death," Finnick grinds out, edging forward again.

Felix just laughs and barks, "Stay where you are or I'll shoot. You know I will."

The warning is taken seriously. Finnick stills, but he doesn't look away from Sil. Her eyes are fearful. Even the mask she's wearing cannot hide the roiling, tumultuous emotion. The sight of it on her face makes him feel powerless. Useless.

Suddenly, the door bursts open as the mob arrives. Tommy and the others turn and immediately start shooting, but to everyone's surprise, Felix hollers, "Stop! Hold your fire at once!"

In confusion, the angry citizens falter, and a tense quiet settles over the room.

Then…

"I have the Sterling Nightingale," Felix roars, and the mob erupts in cheers.

Finnick pales. So does Sil. She swallows around Felix's tight grasp of her throat and struggles a bit against him, but she knows it's useless. Felix only clenches down harder, presses the gun roughly to her head, and leers at her.

"Don't worry, Silver. I'm a forgiving man. I told you before, I don't want your husband's life." He laughs, saying the word like it's a joke, and adds, "I'll let them all go free, as long as I get you."

She closes her eyes at this. Desperation claws at her. She feels sick to her stomach.

The last few days had been a dream. Being with Finnick, truly being with him with no pretenses or lies, had been nothing more than a beautiful slice of reality that was never meant to last. She isn't allowed a happy ending. Maybe she's only been fooling herself into thinking that she could obtain such a thing.

It had always been too much to hope for.

Quietly, Finnick studies her face. He seems to realize what she's thinking, because he shakes his head at her and whispers, "Silver, don't. I'm not worth it."

Her eyes tear up, but she doesn't let herself cry. She stares at him, breathing deeply around Felix's hold. He's wrong. He's worth everything.

"What do you say, love?" Felix murmurs to her.

She scoffs, "What on earth do you think, Felix? As if I'd let my father, my agents, and my husband die all in one night."

Finnick shakes his head again but he knows it won't do any good. Sil has a determined blaze to her eyes. Her response doesn't seem to be very surprising to anyone in the room.

Felix smirks, "Well it's settled then." He turns to the mob, who seem to look to him as a leader, for they are now merely loitering around the yard and foyer like lost, puffed up peacocks. Felix drags Sil forward, gun still pressed to her temple, and shouts at them, "Leave the house alone. We've got what we came here for!"

Honestly, they don't seem very upset at the order. They want the Sterling Nightingale. They don't care nearly as much about the others.

As Felix roughly pulls Sil across the foyer, Finnick reaches out to her and manages to catch her hand briefly before it is ripped away. "I'll come for you – Sil I swear it – "

But she just sends him a bitter smile as Felix drags her out of the door and doesn't respond. If he does come for her, she will not be the same person he remembers her to be. Of this, she has very little doubt.

Sil has held onto this dream for so very long, but like sand through her fingers, she just cannot catch it no matter how hard she tries.


	63. Extravagances of well bred intricacies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which revenge is served cold.
> 
> I did take some liberties with this chapter in various ways. To anyone who isn't a fan of graphic scenes, you may want to consider skipping to the end. To end this author's note in a less morose way, I hope you all have a wonderful weekend :)

 

**Chapter Sixty Three | Extravagances of well bred intricacies**

" _She seemed suddenly to have lost all faculty even for suffering: her heart, her nerves, her brain seemed to have become numb after all these hours of ceaseless anguish, culminating in this awful despair." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

Felix brings her to the Justice Building. She doesn't make it easy for him. Her fingers turn to claws. Her words are spikes meant to pierce. It doesn't seem to do her any good. Everything she does only bounces off of him like so many blunt stones. He's got armor a mile thick and it extends far beyond the physical shield of his protected vest.

She's surrounded by the puffed up, furious peacocks of District 1. They look downright ridiculous dressed in their fanciful suits and Capitol inspired fashions. She sees herself in them. It makes her sick.

The sneers they send her do not match their opulent outfits. Sil knows that she is to become a rebel martyr, at least if they have anything to say on the matter. She's almost relieved when Felix drags her inside and away from the mobbing crowd of familiar faces who spit at her and send grabbing fingers her way.

Almost.

* * *

"We have to go after her," Finnick thunders, grasping Gemma's shoulders with tight fingers. His expression is quilted with grief. He looks afraid.

Gemma just drags a hand through his hair and bemoans, "Sil…Silver…Silver…" like he's gone insane and can't say anything else. Beside him, Aurelian grips his shoulder so tightly that her knuckles blanch white.

Tommy steps in, the voice of reason, and seriously says, "We can't go after her until Plutarch sends reinforcements. I'll contact him and let him know what's happened. Maybe he can pull a few strings for us."

Finnick, though, just shakes his head and leans heavily against the wall.

An hour, a night – what's the difference, really?

Whenever Felix is involved, the world goes to hell.

* * *

Her prison cell is not really a cell at all, but a room. It is barren but for a flimsy table and a couple of chairs. There aren't even curtains on the windows.

She's already bruised and battered from her trip. Felix hadn't been gentle then, and he isn't gentle now. He tosses her into the room like she's a ragdoll. She falls with a painful grunt and hits her chin on the polished wooden floors. Despite the lack of furnishings, her prison reeks of District 1 extravagance. It's almost amusing.

They say that your life comes full circle when you die. That you are placed back at the very beginning. Your first breath becomes your last. The familiarities of your initial years become haunted ghosts that creep towards you as you shudder out your final symphony. She isn't sure if that's true. Not yet.

"You might as well get comfortable," Felix tells her. "Who knows how long you'll be in here?"

Who knows, indeed. Sil turns a sneer his way.

"Well you could have chosen a room with a bit more color," she mutters in her posh accent, just to aggravate him.

But he only laughs and shuts the door. A moment later, he's heaving her up and throwing her against the rickety table with an amused, "Don't be flippant, Silver. Beggars can't be choosers."

No, they can't. She's well aware of that even before he grabs her expensive silk shirt and rips it open down the front. She's never been a beggar in her life, but as she struggles against him and starts pleading for him to stop, she finds that the boundary which separates the two is not as thick as she'd imagined.

* * *

"We had three days," Finnick mumbles almost to himself. Gemma turns to stare sightlessly at him, and he laughs bitterly and bites, "Three days of happiness. That's it."

He twists his fingers together. His knuckles are white with the force of his emotions.

Anger. Pain. Hopelessness. Fear. Grief. Mourning. Sorrow.

Is happiness so utterly out of his reach?

He thinks, in this moment, that it is.

* * *

He bends her fingers back until the bones shatter.

She screams.

He breaks her body, too.

* * *

"Just hang in there," Plutarch says over the phone hours later. "I'm gathering soldiers. They'll be there in the morning."

The news is both a blessing and a curse. Who knew that a couple of hours could become such an eternity?

"Please hurry," Gemma says in a tight voice.

Finnick just remains silent.

There's nothing else to say.

* * *

"Why are you doing this to me?" she whispers later. She stares up at the ceiling with an emotionless expression, but inside she is torn with despair.

Felix's hands are fire and destruction. They cover her body like mismatched plagues of disease.

She hears him scoff. The sound is loud in the silence.

"Because I hate you," is all he says, as if it should be obvious. She supposes it should be. And then in a twisted, bitterly humored voice, he adds, "And because I love you." The smile he sends her makes her want to curl up and drown, but she can't move. She is in so much pain.

"Maybe," he whispers darkly, scooting his body against hers as she lays on the floor, "maybe it isn't so strange. Hating and loving you. You're so easy to hate, Silver, and I love it so much."

His skin presses against hers. When he leans down to kiss her, she wants to die.

* * *

Finnick finds himself in the aviary. The nightingales chirp at him curiously from the wide-open spaces between the wooden buttresses. A desert wind shudders through the screened windows. Finnick stares at the paint that is still laying innocently on the table. The unfinished mural that Sil had started painting on the wall is like an angry wound that festers in him.

The quick flapping sound of wings seems to mirror the desperate beat of his heart.

* * *

His touch brings pain. He hurts her, in ways she never knew she could be hurt.

An hour – two, three, four? – goes by before a knock sounds at the door. Felix props himself up on his elbow and looks over at the door with a lazy expression. He calls, "Come in."

She closes her eyes tightly as the door opens, wishing she could cover herself, but moving brings waves of horrible agony. She just lies there.

"Ah, thank you," Felix says in a pleased voice. He doesn't seem to notice that he, too, is naked. He doesn't seem to care.

The door closes again, and he crawls back to her prone figure. She keeps her eyes closed, until she feels the point of a needle against the inside of her elbow. With a gasp, she pushes herself up. Her broken hands give out before she can move even an inch, and she falls back to the floor with a loud thud and a sobbing groan.

Felix watches this with a raised eyebrow.

"Don't be so dramatic," he tells her, and plunges the syringe into her skin. She can't stop him.

"What is it?" she asks desperately. Her voice is in shards.

Felix just shrugs and calmly responds, "It's my gift to you, Silver."

She stares up at him with confused eyes, until her head begins to spin and her vision flickers. She doesn't know what he means. He doesn't seem to care about that, either.

* * *

She finds out later. When he's shucking her legs around his waist and pressing himself into her and smoothing his fingers gently over her hair and kissing her with a softness that is foreign in this room.

Her vision is still flickering. It changes every second. It frightens her.

"Oh Silver," he whispers into her ear. The moan he presses to her skin is a dreadful sound, at first. The cadence of it changes too, though.

"Finnick?" she breathes to the man above her. He smiles down at her and presses a kiss to her mouth.

"I'm here," he says. He repeats it so many times that she thinks it's true.

"Don't leave me," she mumbles, half delirious with the drug that courses through her veins. Pleasure blossoms through her. His every move is gentle and caressing and for the first time in what feels like forever, she nearly forgets that she is in pain.

When he responds, there is a dark tone to his voice that confuses her, but she's so caught up in his presence that her exhausted, broken mind cannot grasp the reason for it.

"I'll never leave you, love," he returns. She thinks it's strange that he would call her 'love'. She doesn't think he ever has before.

But then his hand is moving between her legs and his thumbs is twisting circles against her as his hips shudder down into hers, and she forgets that it is strange and that she is confused and that something about this scenario feels wrong. She forgets it all in a haze of pleasure that suckers at her skin and makes her moan. Her body whirls with it. She can't stop it from overcoming her.

Desire unleashes through her. His gentle movements are a balm and she can't stop to wonder what he's doing in her nightmare, or how he got into this hell. It doesn't matter. All that matters is that he's here, and he's tearing down the walls of pain and agony and spite and – every shift of his body over hers is a heartbreaking bliss that makes her gasp and moan his name.

Finnick. Finnick. Finnick.

And then the movements stop, and when she opens her eyes Finnick is looking down at her in surprise, as if he can't quite believe that she has come undone for him so quickly – so profoundly – and…

It's only once she comes down from it that her vision flickers again, and the hazy edges of it morph and change, and she realizes with a jolt of fearful hysteria that she is not looking up at Finnick at all. The face of her personal demon blinks back.

The tears that burn down her cheeks only seems to amuse Felix.

He smiles bitterly at her and brushes them away. There's an almost pitying look on his face that makes her feel like the most shameful person on earth.

"Oh Silver," he whispers, shaking his head. She starts crying. He sighs.

"I understand," he breathes, dragging a hand over her form as if he means for his touch to soothe her. It only makes her turn her head to the side, close her eyes, and gasp out broken sobs into the floor.

Felix sighs again in a pitying manner and murmurs, "He'll never forgive you for this."

He'll never forgive you.

He'll never forgive you.

* * *

Every second that ticks by is a second so full of suffering that Finnick can hardly bear it. The night slowly turns to day, but the sleepless agony of his fear does not give him the relief he craves.

What is happening to her?

He doesn't know, and it makes him sick to his stomach.

Rebels soldiers pour into District 1 some hours later. The hot desert sun is at its highest point when the mayhem spirals into the forced crucible of control. The angry citizens are tempered with the coming of District 13's army. Plutarch arrives personally in the midst of the outraged hell, hoping to soothe the pandemonium with words instead of violence. Gale accompanies him, eager to wrap up this war and put an end to the bloodshed.

It's almost funny, how only a few words and a show of strength halts the riots so easily.

"District 1 will still be the main trading hub of Panem," Plutarch reasons to the crowds. "This atmosphere you've cultivated is pointless. Our new government will not cut you off – we are all free now, to live as we please."

He weaves fanciful words that seems to reason with the crowd who is so afraid that their way of life is about to come to a shuddering end.

Finnick thinks they're as bad as the Capitol.

He hates this place and this people. He hates them all except her.

* * *

"The rebels have come," Felix informs her. She can only turn her head to him. He's moved her to the table. She's on her stomach. He has her face shoved into the wood as he hovers over her from behind.

She's glad. At least she doesn't have to look at him while he ruins her.

Her broken hands throb as they sit atop the table's surface, red and swollen and angry. As Felix lays himself over her and purrs, "Not that it matters. You're never leaving this room," she wishes she could cut them off her wrists.

* * *

He carves his name into her thigh. He says it's so she'll always remember him, but she thinks it's just because he enjoys the way she's stopped struggling.

The pain is numb now. She can do nothing else but take it all and let it burn her to embers.

* * *

"Why can't we just bust the door down?" Finnick demands, face set and jaw locked. He looks at Plutarch and Tommy and Gemma and some unnamed rebel generals and roughly says, "He can't lock himself in the Justice building forever."

Plutarch rubs his jaw. His expression folds into hesitation.

"We don't want to give him any reason to kill her," he reasons. Finnick thinks he's been reasoning a little too much as of late.

"He has a point, Finnick," Tommy murmurs, fingers tight as they grasp his firearm. He's hardly let the thing go since…

Finnick shakes his head and scorns, "We've got an army of soldiers at our command. Felix doesn't stand a chance. If we can get a handful of men in there – "

"A covert operation could work," Gale inputs, leaning over a map of the building. He glances up at Finnick and slowly adds, "…But there's no knowing what state she's in. You should prepare yourself."

Finnick laughs bitterly. He's spent months preparing himself to fall in love with Silver Lamprey Cornelius. He can spend a few moments preparing to save her life.

…He just hopes there's enough of her to save.

* * *

She sees him everywhere. He haunts her. He's in the planes of Felix's face and the breadth of space between his fingers and the moans that spill against her neck and the soft way he kisses her mouth. He's there even when she feels nothing but pain – pain – pain so great it thuds through her with uncontrollable fire and purges her soul into darkness.

She's never seen Finnick's face morph into such hatred.

He hurts her until she can no longer scream because her throat is too hoarse to make a single sound.

* * *

Felix comes to her sometimes, flickering into her vision. She feels him drive another syringe into her skin but she doesn't care anymore. He doesn't matter because he's not the one who hurts her. He's not the one who makes her shudder with pain. He's not the one who pushes her down and turns her into a plaything to be broken.

After a while, she doesn't even see Felix anymore.

All she sees is Finnick.

"Finnick, please," she cries against the wood. Her tears are pathetic things that make the scratches on her face sting.

"Please stop. Stop stop stop – " she sobs. The sound is even more pathetic than her tears.

He tells her that, when he leans down and presses her hips against the hard edge of the table. He whispers it into her ear as his hands rove over her body, grasping and clawing and scratching and  _hurting_.

"You'll never leave this room, love," he says to her, again and again and again and –

She believes him.

* * *

You'll never leave this room.

You'll never leave this room.

* * *

"Everyone understands the plan?" Gale asks, looking around the room at the men who are gathered. Most of them are rebel soldiers and generals who have arrived to assist with restoring order to District 1. Tommy and Marcus have joined the fold as well. Finnick wants to, but Plutarch has ordered him to stay behind.

"I think it would be better," he had said. "I'm not sure what to expect, but knowing Felix…it won't be pretty."

Better to have men who don't know Sil personally, just in case.

Finnick doesn't want to agree, but…

A part of him does.

He stays behind.

* * *

"Why don't you kill me?" she asks him.

Finnick laughs.

"I like you too much to kill you just yet," he responds with a stretch, buttoning up his shirt as he eyes her. She doesn't look at him, just stares at the splintering wood beneath her and stays silent.

"Remember, love," he adds, patting her hip, "you're just someone to warm my bed. That's what you'll always be. That's why I love you."

"…That's why you love me," she repeats. She's so tired.

Finnick strokes a hand over her hair and leans down to kiss her forehead.

"That's right," he whispers. "And if you ever get out of this place, that will never change, do you understand?"

His voice is gentle. She looks up at him. Her heart  _hurts_.

Finnick just smiles down at her with an almost pitying look on his face, as if he thinks she's the stupidest person alive.

Maybe she is.

"You always were and always will be my plaything. Nothing more," he breathes, and squeezes her breast with grasping fingers.

His face flickers for a moment – she thinks for a split second that it isn't Finnick at all but – it is. The world settles again and he's there.

Staring up at him unblinkingly, Sil quietly repeats, "Nothing more."

Nothing more.

* * *

You'll never leave this room, he had told her.

He's right.

(She doesn't care. She hopes it becomes her grave.)

* * *

Her hands burn.

Her heart burns.

Her legs burn.

Her head burns.

* * *

"Please," she whispers, "just let me die."

He doesn't.

* * *

"What are you to me, love?" he asks later, leaning over her.

She closes her eyes.

"I'm nothing." Her voice is a broken shard. There is no strength in it.

"You're what?" he asks.

"I'm nothing."

"That's right," he pats her cheek, smiling gently down at her. The cruelty in his voice doesn't match his expression when he whispers "You're nothing. Don't forget, okay?"

She just nods.

* * *

The door bursts open and strange armored men enter the room.

They take Finnick, dragging him away. He doesn't struggle. He does send her a sneering grin before he leaves, though.

"Christ," one of the mutters. She thinks the voice sounds a little familiar, but she doesn't care enough to look.

Something covers her. Hands pull her up.

"Hey, Silver. Silver, look at me," the familiar voice murmurs. Fingers turn her chin. When she sees the face that accompanies the voice, she whispers, "Gale."

He looks somewhat relieved. She's not sure why.

"We're getting you out of here, okay?" he asks, pulling the blanket tighter around her form.

She gives him a strange look, then laughs. She doesn't care that the men are looking at her like she's insane. She doesn't care that Gale is, too.

"I'll never leave this room," she intones.

She doesn't see the clenched jaw or the tight expression she receives in response. All she sees are the four walls of this place. The table. The chairs. The pain. The humiliation. Him.

Even when they carry her outside and put her in a waiting car and drive her through District 1 and pull up the Cornelius driveway –

She doesn't leave that room.

* * *

"She's here," Plutarch informs them as the car pulls up. Finnick is the first one on his feet. Before he can go anywhere though, Plutarch grabs him by the arm and pulls him back.

"Hawthorne informed me that she needs immediate medical attention. And…I think it would be better if you let us treat her before you see her."

Finnick frowns.

"No," he says staunchly. "I  _need_  to make sure she's okay."

He's thankful that Plutarch doesn't argue, but the look in the other man's eyes makes Finnick more than a little afraid of what's to come.

Gale carries her inside. She's half out of it, full of whatever drug runs through her veins. Her eyes are half lidded and she's drifting between sleep and wakefulness. She doesn't seem aware of her surroundings at all.

When she hears a voice call her name, that changes.

She looks up, meets Finnick's eye, and starts struggling in Gale's hold. Finnick looks somewhat hopeful for a split second, until she cries,  _"Why won't you let me die_? Let me die –  _let_   _me_  – "

His eyes widen. He stops in his tracks. She sobs, "Don't touch me. Don't. Don't, Finnick. Please no more."

Someone takes out another syringe and her expression crumbles at the sight of it. She weakly tries to push it away with her broken hands, but all she manages to do is cry out in agonized pain as darkness starts to creep into her vision.

She's so afraid of it.

"No, don't, don't, don't…don't…"

The moment her eyes close, she's back.

Table, chairs, humiliation.

Pain.

* * *

Finnick isn't an idiot. He has a pretty good idea of what Sil's been through.

"We need morphling. And someone who knows how to set her hands," Gale says, tucking her lifeless form against his body. As Gale carries the woman further into the mansion with Gemma following quickly in his wake, the blanket covering Sil's form flutters to reveal her shoulder.

It's marred with bruises and scratches.

No – Finnick is not an idiot. He knows.

He just doesn't understand why the sight of him turns her into a hysteric, frightened mess.

* * *

You'll never leave this room.

Felix. Finnick. Felix. Finnick.

They go round and round and round and round and –

Stop.


	64. That you hold so dear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Sil begins her recovery, and Finnick is at a loss.
> 
> I hope you're all prepared for some comfort, angst, and protective Finnick, because that is precisely what is coming up!

 

**Chapter Sixty Four | That you hold so dear**

" _She need not complain now that he was cold and impassive; his very voice shook with an intensity of passion, which he was making superhuman efforts to keep in check." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

Sil wakes up in her bedroom. It is a far cry different than the place she's been kept in for God knows how long. At first, she jolts up and pushes herself into the headboard of the bed, shivering as she wonders how she got there. The opulent furnishings do little to calm her down, despite their familiarity. The birds the swoop along the ceiling seem to sneer at her.

Her head feels clearer. She stares at the painted birds for a long moment. Memories pour into her mind. They are nightmarish and dreadful, but she clings onto them as if she is afraid that forgetting them will make her forget reality. Reality – that is precisely what she needs.

In the light of day, without the drugs festering in her system, she remembers slivers of what happened to her. She remembers Felix.

She tries to grip the bedsheets tightly, forgetting for a moment that her hands are broken. The action makes her cry out, voice cascading into a shuddering sob that seems to ricochet through the entire room. It certainly catches the attention of the people outside of it.

At once, the door is thrown open and a startled nurse rushes in. On the nurse's heels is another, but Sil doesn't even notice them. She's staring at her hands, which have been wrapped and splintered – but she barely sees the bandages. All she sees are broken fingers.

Tears well up in her eyes. Her hands – they're ruined. Her body is ruined. Her spirit is ruined. She closes her eyes tightly and lays back down, burying her face into the pillow as she stares blankly at the opposite wall. Why is she still here? Is death not good enough for her? Is she not allowed to surrender to its darkness?

Across the room, Finnick stares at her. Sometime after his initial run in with Sil, Gale had gone to him. He informed him briefly about Sil's state and listed several of her injuries. Finnick had a feeling that Gale was holding back on him, but to be honest, it doesn't take a genius to read between the lines. He's experienced enough in those hotel rooms to hear the words that Gale leaves out.

The nurse, seeing that Sil has not opened any wounds, silently takes her leave. She doesn't force Finnick out of the room, so he stays where he is. To be honest, he's not sure if he could walk away even if he wanted to. His legs feel shaky. He feels like he could sink to the ground at any moment.

Instead, he walks to the bed, and carefully places himself into Sil's line of sight.

She slowly turns to him and stares. Her blank eyes are unnerving, so Finnick clears his throat and gestures to the side of the bed. "Mind if I sit?" he asks. She doesn't respond, so he does.

It's only when he reaches for a wet rag and goes to wipe some of the sweat from her brow that Sil cringes back with a whimper and demands, "Don't touch me."

The adamancy of her words startles him, and he immediately jerks back from her as if she is a wild animal. Seemingly intent on ignoring him, Sil turns her head away and stiffly pretends that he is not there. Finnick is not the type to let people ignore him, though.

Trying to remove his surprise from his expression, he drops the rag back into the bowl and whispers, "Sil…please. Tell me what happened."

She is silent for a long time. The only sound is her breathing and the ticking of the clock on the other side of the room. Finnick stares at her, so worried that he can barely draw breath, until she hoarsely murmurs, "He wanted me to scream."

Finnick immediately tenses at the this. Back stiff, his hands form fists in his lap. He stares down at them with hard eyes and tries to wrangle back his fury. Felix. Felix is the cause of this. Felix is the reason she is not herself – so far removed from the strength and wit he has come to see in her.

He knows that being angry won't get him answers, so he waits until he can speak without it tumbling through his voice. After a short while, he swallows thickly and asks, "What did he do to you?"

Sil just stares at the wall, as if lost in memory, and doesn't answer. As before, Finnick waits as patiently as he can. He doesn't want to push her in this fragile state, but he needs to know. He feels helpless. He doesn't know how to fix this, or if he even can.

When she does finally answer, he is completely unprepared to hear it.

She closes her eyes and whispers,  _"He ruined me."_

The short response would not normally cause his heart to rocket in his chest, but Finnick has always been able to read between the lines. He sees her words for what they are, and a little bit more.

But needing confirmation, he haltingly murmurs, "Did he…did he touch you?" He can't bring himself to say the word that bubbles up in the back of his throat, so he swallows it back down and hopes that her answer will put his worries to rest.

It doesn't.

He already knows the answer before she says it, but it still sends him spiraling into despair when she tensely answers, "Yes."

The bitterness of her eyes sinks into her voice and she turns to spear him with a gaze that freezes him to the bone. It looks as if she's staring right through him. Like she's been transported back in time and is reliving her torture all over again. Finnick wants to reach out to her, but he doesn't want her to flinch away from him like she'd done before, so he just sits there feeling helpless and inadequate in the face of her suffering.

She turns her head away from him again and mutters, "He's done it before. Only this time it was worse, because – "

She stops talking very suddenly, abruptly cutting herself off before she can finish her sentence. With a tight jaw and hard eyes that looks suspiciously wet, Sil rolls onto her side and buries herself into the blankets. Staring at her back, Finnick furrows his brow and runs a hand through his hair. This is a hell of a lot harder than he thought it would be. He doesn't even know where to start, but at least she's talking now. It's better than her eerie silences and one word responses.

Hitching his knee onto the bed, Finnick pivots his body toward her and pauses, unsure how to proceed. After a moment of drowning in his own hesitation, he finally sighs and urges, "Because…?"

He can't imagine what her response could possibly be, or why it seems to make her so desperate to turn away from him. Gone is the woman who had so boldly told him she loved him in the streets of Panem. The woman who had fallen into his love with tenacious desire, who had not shied away from him even when she was nervous to tear down her walls. This is not the Silver Lamprey Cornelius that he knows, and he has no idea how to bring that part of her back to the surface.

With a start, he realizes that her shoulders are shaking. He can't see her face from his angle, but he's got a bad feeling that her shivers mean that she's crying. His hand starts to move toward her, hoping that she'll let him comfort her, but he stops when the cadence of her voice weakly fills the room.

"Never mind. It doesn't matter."

She closes her eyes and frowns, ducking her head away from him, but he still sees the shards of misery in her gaze, the torment in her face. He knows there is more to this story than she is telling him.

She doesn't speak, though. Instead she just curls in on herself and refuses to look him in the eye. Inside, she drowns, remembering the revolting pleasure she had felt when Felix had been gentle with her. The hallucination that the drug had cast upon her had been beyond cruel. To think that it was Finnick, and not Felix – that is something she cannot voice. And – to see Felix even now, in the planes of Finnick's face. To watch those lovely sea green eyes transform into angry brown, tempered with hate…it is too much for her.

Shame curdles in her chest as Felix's words come back to her.

" _He'll never forgive you."_

His cruel laughter rings in her ears. She can see him again, as if she's back in that room. She can feel his hands on her. The rocking of the table beneath her. The furious way he'd pushed her down with every brutal thrust of his hips. She doesn't realize she's hyperventilating until she feels a hand on her, pulling her back to the present.

"…il – Sil! Sil, come back to me – Silver – "

With a start, Sil jerks up, only to see Finnick hovering over her with distressed eyes. He's clutching onto her arm tightly. She stares at him, chest heaving as she's brought from that horrific memory.

After a moment, she catches her breath and lets out a laugh. It's a little high-pitched, full of a frantic sort of need to cover up her anxiety and her fear, which Finnick can see even now as it curls through her eyes. In an upbeat voice that sounds more than a little fake, Sil blurts, "Gracious."

Closing her eyes, she ignores Finnick's anxious expression. He stares at her, rubbing his thumb over her arm before moving his fingers to brush a strand of her hair out of her eyes. She flinches back from him with a pained groan as if his touch had physically burned her.

Finnick draws back quickly. He swallows thickly at the sight of her and, at a complete loss, reverts back to what is at least attainable – the healing of her body.

"Can I…get you more painkillers?" he haltingly asks, not wanting to leave but needing something to do to occupy himself.

Sil just clears her throat and awkwardly mumbles, "If you wish," then falls silent. She keeps her eyes closed as he gets up to pour her a glass of water and gather two pills from the table several feet away.

When he returns to her side, he helps her into a sitting position. Without the use of her hands, she must rely on him to press the pills into her mouth and help her take a sip of the water. She does so without complaint, with such a blank look in her eyes that Finnick can only go through the motions just like she's doing. When she's finished, he places the glass back on the side table and sits there on the bed looking as lost as he feels.

Sil, for her part, merely lays back down and rolls over again.

"I'd like to sleep," is all she says. He sees it for what it is: a desire to be alone and away from him. It makes his heart hurt, but he will allow her this.

After a moment, Finnick nods and gets up. "Alright, sugar. Get some rest."

He doesn't tell her that he'll be back later. He doesn't think she really wants to hear it right now. So instead, he just quietly takes his leave and closes the door behind him.

He walks down the hall quickly. The moment he turns the corner, he slides down the wall and buries his face in his hands, fingers clenching into his hair.

He's never felt so helpless in his life.

* * *

Half of the rebel troops settle down in District 1. The other half return to the Capitol. Plutarch also takes his leave, though he informs Gemma that he'd like him to send updates on Silver's condition. The Cornelius estate gradually begins to thin out as Sil's agents quietly return to their own districts. Even Tommy leaves after a few days, deciding that it is best to give Sil some space for a while. By the end of the week, only a handful of nurses and soldiers idle around the manor.

And then there is Finnick.

He throws himself into Sil's recovery. After his conversation with her, he needed some time to process everything. He needed time to compare the Silver Lamprey Cornelius of the past to the one that now exists. Most importantly, he needed time to figure out what he has to do to connect the two together and to heal the wounds that go deeper than the physical.

He spends that evening by himself, deep in thought on the large veranda that swoops around the back of the house. It is quiet here. The little twinkling fairy lights make the atmosphere feel efflorescent and peaceful, like he's in a different world. A better world.

He sits with his head bowed and his shoulders hunched, staring at his hands as he thinks on what he should do. He's so lost in thought that he doesn't even notice when someone takes a seat beside him.

"You look like shit," Dorsey's voice suddenly mutters, jolting Finnick out of whatever place he'd been locked in. The Victor from 4 jerks up in surprise and turns to his unlikely visitor, who he hasn't seen since they got separated nearly three weeks ago in the streets of District 1. When he notices the bottle of brandy hanging from Dorsey's hands, Finnick snorts.

"I see you found the liquor," he mumbles, turning back to the garden. Dorsey just smirks.

"This place has an  _extensive_  liquor cabinet," the man drawls, and offers Finnick the bottle. After Finnick spends a few seconds eyeing it, Dorsey rolls his eyes. "I think you need it more than I do. I heard about Sil."

Her name makes Finnick tense. He lets out a heavy breath and grabs the neck of the bottle, bringing it to his lips and taking a generous sip. Dorsey just turns to look out at the eternal expanse of the desert beyond the veranda's limits. It looks like it might swallow them up at any moment.

Instead of delving into the topic that weighs heavily on his mind, Finnick merely asks, "What are you doing here? Thought you went back to the Capitol."

The question makes Dorsey scoff. "Yeah, well, I wanted to check up on Sil. See how she's doing."

Finnick just gives him a miserable look and mumbles, "Not very well."

Dorsey sighs.

"…Plutarch told me that she's gone through something similar to what Peeta went through, back when the Capitol hijacked him. They found traces of tracker jacker venom in her blood. He thinks…" Finnick swallows, "…he thinks Felix somehow altered her memories of me temporarily. She's better now, though. I don't think she was in there long enough for the venom to do any permanent damage."

This seems to surprise Dorsey, who's jaw snaps shut in shock. He turns to Finnick with a wild expression. Finnick just laughs bitterly and takes another sip of the liquor.

"That bastard deserves so much more than a simple execution," Dorsey mutters. Finnick grunts in agreement.

They fall into silence. The evening is cold, but neither of them really feel it. The temperature is the last of their concerns.

After a moment, Dorsey turns to look at him, staring, until Finnick impatiently asks, "What?"

With a shrug, the older man leans back on the bench they're occupying and says, "Just wondering what you're doing out here, is all. Would've thought you'd be with your girl."

Finnick just mumbles, "She's not my girl."

Dorsey laughs, looking entirely unconcerned at the glare he receives in response.

"You know," he says, propping the bottle of brandy against his leg, "I think that might be the stupidest thing I've ever heard you say."

Running a hand through his hair, Finnick opens his mouth to reply, only Dorsey beats him to it. He spears Finnick with a look and continues, "She's so in love with you she can't even see straight. You can't honestly tell me you're not aware of that."

Speechless, Finnick closes his mouth and sighs. After a moment, he rubs his forehead and mutters, "It doesn't matter anymore. She's…not herself. She's made it pretty clear that she doesn't want me near her."

With a chuckle, Dorsey drawls, "And when have you ever listened to anyone besides yourself?"

Slightly annoyed, Finnick glares at him. "Things are different now. Felix, he – he did  _unspeakable_  things to her…things that she won't talk to me about." He means to go on, but the words get stuck in his throat. Just the thought of Felix's torture makes his skin crawl.

The brief explanation seems to get the point across, though. Dorsey isn't stupid. He can imagine what 'things' Felix did. He's a lot older than Finnick and he's seen more than him. He's seen Felix's attentions toward Sil plenty of times before – the way he'd look at her at Capitol functions, eyes possessive and avaricious. The way he'd haunt her every step.

"Mmm…" Dorsey hums darkly. For once, he chooses his words carefully when he next speaks. "If the tables were turned, and you were the one in that room…well, I'm pretty sure Cornelius wouldn't leave your side no matter how many times you told her to."

Finnick doesn't answer. He just stares down at his hands silently.

With a sigh, Dorsey slowly tells him, "Look, Odair, Sil's hidden a lot of things from you, I get that, but her feelings for you aren't one of them. You really gonna let that pass you by?"

Shaking his head, Finnick's eyes will with frustration as he impatiently repeats, "She doesn't want me near her, Dorsey!"

The older Victor immediately scoffs, "Bullshit. You think just because she tells you to go away, she actually means it? For a lady killer, you don't know much about women."

Dorsey tilts the bottle back, takes a long drink, and drawls, "I'm gonna give you some advice, kid. If you don't help her through this now, you're gonna lose her forever. That girl's a lot tougher than she looks. Sooner or later, she'll put herself back together with or without your help, but I'm willing to bet she'd prefer you to be there when she does."

With that, he stands up and places the brandy down on the bench beside Finnick. As he turns to take his leave, Finnick tiredly asks, "And do you have any advice on how I should go about that?"

The question makes Dorsey laugh. If he didn't know any better, Finnick would've thought it sounds condescending.

The older man just raises an eyebrow at him, still chuckling. "No idea, kid." Finnick glares at him.

"You're no help at all," he mutters, and rubs his exhausted eyes

Dorsey stares at him for a long moment and shrugs. "When I'm at a loss, I get shitfaced until the answer comes to me. Maybe you should try it." He nods at the brandy bottle and smirks.

Finnick, annoyed, responds with a clipped, "I don't know why I'm even listening to you."

Even so, he grabs the brandy and cradles it against his chest. Dorsey just smirks wider and drawls, "I'm not sure either. No one else does."

Then he turns and walks away, leaving Finnick alone in the garden with his stolen alcohol and his dismal thoughts.

Nothing worthwhile is ever easy. Not even love.

* * *

Sil sees more of Finnick than she expects over the course of the next few days. It's…aggravating, in a way, and heart wrenching in another. When he arrives in her room the next morning with a breakfast tray, she's honestly not sure how to react. A large part of her had thought he'd be long gone by now, or at least avoiding her room at all costs. But here he is, chipper as always, as if the recent events hadn't even happened.

"Morning, sugar," he greets cheerfully as he enters the room. Nudging the door closed behind him, he walks over to a small round table by the windows and sets the tray down. As he busies himself with pouring her a cup of coffee, he asks, "How many sugar cubes do you want?"

Shocked at the normality of the question, Sil just stares at him from the bed. Finnick glances at her, raises an eyebrow, and shrugs, "Two, then." He adds the sugar and walks over to the bed.

She's still so surprised at his rather abrupt and cheerful arrival that she just stares at the coffee blankly. It's not as if she can actually hold onto the mug. Finnick, admittedly, hadn't thought that through when he decided to bring her breakfast. He frowns at the cup and mutters, "Shoulda brought a straw."

In another world, this would have made her smile, but this is not another world, and she hasn't smiled for days.

Clearing his throat, he shrugs and sets the mug on the side table. "Oh well. Come on, up and at 'em. Time to start walking."

Again, she just stares at him and doesn't move. He's at a bit of a loss, but Finnick hides it flawlessly when he gives her a look and drawls, "Do I have to drag you out of bed? I mean, usually I wouldn't complain, but under the circumstances…" he purses his lips and says in a slightly more serious tone, "You need to eat something, Sil."

Sil just haughtily rolls her eyes at him and says in a stubborn voice, "I ate already. The nurses brought me an omelet. It was bland."

The description makes him chuckle a little as he stands by her bed, hands casually in his trouser pockets.

"Alright, well how about you just take a few bites of this, since I brought it up for you and everything," he suggests, lifting the bowl of porridge to show her. "You know, not every woman gets such stellar treatment from yours truly."

She wrinkles her nose at the bowl and then promptly turns it up. " _That_  tasteless slop again? I could barely eat it the  _first_  time. _"_

Sighing, Finnick takes a seat on the edge of the bed. "Look, I know it isn't the gourmet stuff you usually eat, but the nurse says it'll be good for you. Please don't make me force feed you. I don't think our relationship could take that," he jokes. A bad one, in hindsight.

Mention of what their relationship can or cannot take only makes the haughty but slightly humored expression on Sil's face drop away, and she turns her head from him quickly. Finnick holds his breath at the sight. The spoon returns to the porridge bowl.

At once, his cheerful demeanor seems to drop away too, as if it was never there to begin with. He rubs his jaw and looks down at the edge of the bed, not knowing what to do with this suddenly prickly version of Sil. Honestly, he's never seen this side of her before, and while he knows it is only a defense mechanism to deal with the immense trauma she's been through, he still has no idea how to get to her.

How does one unravel layers upon layers of anguish that goes far beyond physical pain? And yet, though he knows their situations are different, Finnick feels as though he is the best person for the job. Not only because he loves her, but because he's been through something startlingly similar himself.

"Sil…" he begins, taking a deep breath. He's about to tell her things that he's never told anyone before, not even Annie or Mags. Things he's kept close to his heart, locked up tight from prying eyes. The things that make up a good portion of his nightmares. Swallowing thickly, he murmurs, "I'm not trying to undermine what you've just gone through, but…rape is something I'm very familiar with."

He is hesitant to say the word aloud. He doesn't want to upset her or bring up fresh memories, but he also wants to take the most straightforward approach possible. He doesn't want to sugarcoat this – he feels that it would be an injustice to her.

Watching her expression carefully, he slowly says, "I was sixteen when Snow sent me to my first hotel room. I was scared out of my mind." He pauses and murmurs, "My first client was…rough. She…she tied me…" he clears his throat and stares down at his hands. "She tied me to the bed and…"

God this is hard. He can barely even say the words out loud. Running a hand through his hair, Finnick laughs humorlessly, takes a breath, and finishes, "She – look, what I'm saying is – "

"Finnick," Sil interrupts, making him jerk up to meet her eyes. Her gaze is a mix of sadness and understanding. It makes his heart leap up to his throat. "I…I  _know_  that you've been through hell. I know."

He stares at her silently. She sounds a little more like herself.

She looks down at her hands. Her thoughts are full of Felix, and when she speaks, the sliver of herself that he had recognized disappears.

"Stop trying to help me, Finnick. I don't want to be saved."

She turns away again. Staring at her, Finnick whispers, "What do you mean?"

Her shoulders quiver. She doesn't respond. In truth, he doesn't really need her to.

"Silver…"

She closes her eyes for a moment, then staunchly tells him, "I'm not hungry, Finnick. I don't want your porridge and I don't want your stories. Please leave."

She watches his expression flicker with hurt, but doesn't take the words back. If she's being honest with herself, she wants everything – his breakfast, his stories, his love – but a sinister voice in her head whispers that she doesn't deserve any of it.

She's broken. Felix had been right. She'll never leave that room. It's far easier to push Finnick away and make him think she doesn't care. She does it on purpose, knowing full well what she's trying to accomplish. She does it because he deserves someone who is whole. Someone who does not hide beneath layers of masks. Someone who wants to live. She is not that person.

He shifts on his feet, and she waits for him to turn around and leave the room. For a brief moment, she's convinced that he will – he is, too – but instead he tightens his jaw and steps towards her rather than away from her.

Before she realizes what he's doing, he's grabbing her face between his hands and turning her to face him. Her eyes lock with his and he stubbornly tells her, "I won't leave you. You can try to order me around as much as you like, but I'm not going anywhere. For Christ's sake – I  _can't_ , Sil."

She frowns at him. It isn't exactly the type of response he would have expected. But this entire situation isn't something he had expected, and her expression doesn't make him falter. He just presses his lips to her forehead and sighs against her. She lets him, but doesn't say or do anything in response.

He tries not to let her adamant silence impact him.

"I'll call the nurse in and be back with lunch later today," he softly tells her, kissing her forehead again because he can't stop himself, this is the first time she's actually letting him touch her and it's so much better than watching her flinch away.

Gently releasing her face, he nods down at her and murmurs, "Which you are gonna eat, by the way."

A part of him is hoping that she'll smile at the words, but she doesn't. Hell, he'd even settle for one of her ridiculous too-wide grins that she used to blind people with. Instead he just gets a gloomy look that seems utterly foreign on her face. He tries not to let that impact him too much either, and just gives her a stiff smile.

He takes his leave. He won't let her hide from him forever, but he can give her the time she needs for now.


	65. I am but a poor sailor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Gemma involves himself with his daughter's suffering, while Sil and Finnick have an intervention.
> 
> I do apologize in advance for the cliffhanger at the end of this chapter, but seeing as I am one of those amazingly benevolent authors, you can all expect an update on Sunday because it's Easter and why not? Of course, when you read the next chapter, you may not be as pleased with me, but I swear that it's all for the greater good! On that foreboding note, please enjoy :)

 

**Chapter Sixty Five | I am but a poor sailor**

" _The physical pain of utter weariness was so great that she hoped confidently her tired body could rest here forever, after all the turmoil, the passion, and the intrigues of the last few days – here, beneath that clear sky, within sound of the sea, and with this balmy autumn breeze whispering to her a last lullaby." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

The evening falls hard. Sil doesn't really notice. She doesn't notice anything but the flickering images that play out behind her eyes. Felix is ingrained there, haunting her every time she blinks. When she dreams, her nightmares now have an added participant. Felix haunts her wherever she goes.

With little to do to occupy herself, Sil drifts in and out of sleep. She hasn't gotten out of bed since her arrival, except to use the bathroom. That is a humiliation in its own right. Without the use of her hands, she has to rely on nurses to help her do even the simplest of things. She can't even wash herself without their assistance.

She suddenly hates it here. She hates this room and the way the others tiptoe around her. She's  _the Sterling Nightingale_  for goodness sake. They needn't be so cautious.

Not that she can blame them for it. She knows more than anyone that she hasn't exactly been herself of late, but she can't blame herself for that, either.

She expects that this evening will pan out in much the same manner as the previous ones have. Despite her callousness towards Finnick, he is adamant about spending the evenings with her. Sometimes he brings books and reads them aloud. Sometimes they just sit in silence. Once, he had even brought her a decadent looking slice of chocolate cake from the kitchen and tried to entice her into eating it – with no luck. She tries to ignore him. He doesn't realize it yet, but it's for the best if he just forgets about her.

When the door opens just as nightfall is arriving, Sil doesn't even look over to see what Finnick's brought with him tonight. She just waits for him to take a seat by the bed and silently stares at the darkening window as she buries her face into the pillow.

To her surprise, though, it is not Finnick who walks through that door.

"Well I never," a very familiar voice tsks. "My daughter, wasting away in bed at all hours of the day! This is not a sight I ever thought to see."

With a jolt, Sil turns to the man who is lingering by the door. Gemma Cornelius just raises an eyebrow at her and steps into the room.

"…Father? What are you doing here?" Sil hoarsely asks, voice rough with disuse.

He studies her closely, eyes trailing from her thickly wrapped hands to the bandages that peek out from beneath her nightgown. His eyes grow darker with every passing second as a heavy wave of protectiveness fills him. And – shame, for not being able to protect his own daughter from the horrors she's endured.

"Can't an old man come see his daughter?" he asks, walking to the bed and taking a seat on the edge of it. He peers down at her and reaches out. She grimaces a little when he slides a hand on her arm, but it still makes his heart hurt at the sight.

He's seen her a few times over the last few days, but Gemma's tried to give her the space that she feels she needs. Unfortunately for her, though, he's quite finished with allowing it to continue. Sil doesn't respond, just purses her lips and remains silent. Pain at seeing his daughter in such a state blossoms within him.

Gemma solemnly muses, "Finnick's been so worried about you, dove. We all are."

Finnick. Of course. He's been floundering around her for days now, hardly knowing what to do. She huffs at the thought.

Glancing down at her hands, she says in a stilted voice, "I'm recovering just fine. The doctors say I might even be able to regain the movements of my fingers if I do enough physical therapy."

The state of her injuries and the manner in which they have affected her does not go over Gemma's head. As an artist himself, he knows exactly what types of consequences come from broken hands and ruined fingers. She may never be able to lift a paintbrush again, let alone do the careful work required to create jewelry. It is a heavy blow – one that he understands innately, for he knows how much her art means to her.

But that is not what he's here to talk about.

He pats her arm and softly says, "That's good, Silver. But I was referring to your other injuries."

His voice is dark with the knowledge of those injuries – the ones that go far beyond the physical. With a jerk, Sil turns to stare at him with wide eyes. Her expression only makes him sigh. His looks mournful and heavy at the sight of it.

"Don't blame Finnick, dove. He loves you, you know, and he's at his wits end trying to help you," Gemma delicately tells her, but he sees that his words fall on deaf ears.

A bitter expression spreads over Sil's face. "…I don't want him to help me. I want him to go back to District 4 and fall in love with someone else."

This time, it is Gemma's turn to be surprised. His eyebrows raise to his hairline. "Now I know you don't mean that, darling. You might fool everyone else around here, but you can't fool me, so tell me what's going on."

Sil just shakes her head, biting her lip hard and turning away from him. She hoarsely mutters, "If I tell you, you'll just go talk to Finnick about it."

Her accusation makes Gemma chuckle. She's always been an intelligent girl, despite her attempts to hide that part of her away. She sees right through him even now.

"You're right," he admits honestly, patting her arm idly. "Because that man loves you, Silver. I think he always has. Father's intuition." He taps the side of his temple and adds, "Do you know how hard it is to find someone like that? He loved you even before he knew who you were."

She stays silent and looks away from him.

Shaking his head, Gemma smiles and reaches out to her. He lifts her chin up and catches her eye. "You don't have to tell me everything, dove. I'm an old man and I already know everything I need to know about what's happened." His eyes flash with the anger of a father whose daughter has been wronged, but he doesn't linger on the emotion. Instead he just murmurs, "I won't be around to shelter you forever. Now I'm not saying you need someone to protect you, but do you really want to be alone for the rest of your life?"

She swallows tightly and he continues, "There's a man right outside that door who's hardly left your side because he's so worried about you. You've got to let him in, Silver. If you don't, you're going to lose him."

Sil just looks at him, then moves her gaze to the door as Gemma's hand drops away from her face. She stares at that door for a long moment.

He thinks, perhaps, that he's gotten through to her, until she bitterly croaks, "He deserves someone better. I'm…I'm not  _good_  enough. I can't  _be with_  him without thinking about – " she abruptly cuts herself off and turns away, biting back frustrated tears.

The sight of her breaks Gemma's heart, but his voice is full of fury when he mutters, "Without thinking about what that despicable man did to you?"

His hands tighten into fists at the mere thought of someone treating his daughter in such a horrific way. Swallowing back waves of anger and grief, Gemma sighs heavily and rubs his face.

"…Time will dull this wound," he murmurs. "It may never heal, but it will be easier to bear. Before long, you may regret pushing Finnick away…but by then it may be too late. Please, dove, I know it's hard, but please  _try_  – for me, if not for him."

But Sil, as before, remains silent, and only the ticking of the clock sounds in the room. And the beating of her heart as it pulses with shame and aches with grief. And the sound of her father's mournful sigh as he pats her arm again, rises from the chair, and leaves her to her rest.

Her father doesn't understand; no one does. She is not acting this way because Felix took advantage of her. She has lived through that many times in the past. The last seven years of life in the Capitol – the parties, the masks – Felix had always hung around her, haunting her every step. Obsession drove him. He's always wanted to possess her. No, she is used to that by now. She's had seven years to get used to it. It is not the trauma of rape that holds her tongue and wilts her heart. It is the way she sees him even when he isn't here. She sees him every time she looks at Finnick.

The hallucinations of the drugs Felix had given her has skewed her world – tipped it upside down and cast her to sea. She cannot be near Finnick when his face flickers and blends with Felix's. When the man she loves reaches out to her, it is not him. It is Felix, reaching out to slam her against that table. It is Felix, tugging her clothes away and bruising her with the force of his disgusting desire. It is Felix, sneering at her from above as he cuts open her skin and leaves his name embedded in her flesh.

She is ashamed about it. It makes her skin crawl. She wants to be near Finnick. She yearns for his presence and his touch. But every time she receives it, she cringes away from him with a heart full of horror. Because – it is not Finnick at all, who comes to her in the evening and reads stories to make her sleep. Who brings coffee every morning with a cheerful straw stuck in the mug. Who carefully tends to her, begs her to talk to him, tries so earnestly to make her smile…

She sees only Felix.

Finnick doesn't come see her that evening, and the sinister part of her that is currently shrouded in a darkness of her own making triumphs at the victory. But – the other part, the bigger part, the part of her that is hidden behind horrific memories and cringing wounds…

That part drowns.

* * *

The next morning, the nurses flitter around her room like the birds that are painted above, twittering amongst themselves as if she is not there. They are a near constant presence; a festering annoyance that she cannot be rid of. They interrupt her space like incessant waves storming up against her.

Sil suffers through another round of humiliation as they wash down her arms and legs, changes the bandages around her wounds, and help her clean herself up in the bathroom. By the time they're finished with their customary grooming, she feels like she's been put through another Capitol prepping for a social event or interview.

Her hair has been shampooed, dried, and brushed. Her skin washed, her nails cleaned up. She's been put into a clean nightgown. The nurses even brush her teeth for her before giving her more pain medication and settling her into one of the chairs by the window. Once their job is finished, they take their leave and Sil sits there by herself and stares out the window at the familiar expanse of sand and cacti that extends far into the horizon.

It's a lovely sight, but she doesn't really see it.

Twenty minutes later, she's so lost in her thoughts that she doesn't hear the door open until Finnick's form approaches her chair.

"I'm glad you've gotten out of bed," he says, appearing beside her and placing a hand on the top of the armchair. She glances over at him and he smiles down at her.

"Mm," is all she replies with, before turning her gaze back to the windows.

Finnick sighs and drums his fingers against the chair as he thoughtfully studies her. After almost a full minute of this, he steps away and walks over to the wardrobe on the other end of the room. He pulls the doors open to reveal rows of dresses and long tunics, and starts shuffling through the selection until he pulls out a knee length dress in a soft blue.

Sil, startled by this, turns to him and immediately rebukes, "I'm not wearing that. Why, it's positively  _ordinary."_

She's not sure where the words come from. She's got plenty of similar dresses that she wears all the time. Casual summer outfits that are simple but elegant, much like this one. The pomp accent that flees her lips is slightly exaggerated, as if Silver Lamprey Cornelius is once again pretending to be inane and silly. Maybe it's easier to be that fop than to be the version of her that has been through the hell that Felix had created for her. She falls into the persona as easily as breathing. A defense mechanism, perhaps. She's not sure.

But Finnick doesn't listen to her. He merely starts humming under his breath as he pulls the dress off the hanger and pulls out a pair of white flats.

"Finnick – " she starts, only for him to cut her off with a short, "I'm taking you outside. You need to get out of this room."

She shakes her head and glares at him as he approaches, as if she thinks the dress is a weapon. The sight of her actually makes him want to laugh, but he reins it in as best he can. Some of his amusement leaks out into his eyes, though, which twinkle at her merrily. His cheerfulness makes her even more annoyed. Does he not take 'no' for an answer?

"Get up. I'll help you get changed," he says, draping the dress over the other chair that sits opposite hers.

Sil pales at his offer and shrinks into the armchair like she's trying to disappear. When he turns back to face her and sees her reaction, he raises an eyebrow.

"Never thought you'd be against getting dressed up," he mutters ironically, tilting his head at the thought.

The Sil he used to know would have jumped at the chance to put on a nice dress and go for a stroll. She used to wear dresses all the time. In fact, he rarely ever saw her in trousers. Even back when they had gone on their 'romantic vacation', she had floated around in her silk summer gowns and high heels. Silver Lamprey Cornelius hadn't needed an excuse to wear beautiful clothes. She just did.

Feeling impatient, he nudges at her. "Come on, it'll be good for you."

She just adamantly shakes her head again and presses herself away from him. The reaction makes him more than a little frustrated. He frowns and runs a hand through his hair.

Honestly, he's at his wits end trying to figure out how to handle this new territory. He just doesn't know how to deal with this new version of her who shies away from him. She never used to, even when they had just begun their fake relationship. He doesn't want to force her into anything, but he also can't stand to see her like this. He's convinced that getting her outside will help, at least in some small away, to bring the woman he loves back to the surface.

But she has no desire to play into his plans. When she doesn't make a move, Finnick closes his eyes, prays to whatever God is out there that he doesn't mess this up, and moves in front of her chair. He has to literally pull her out of it with far more force than should be necessary, but at least he gets her to stand up. He also seems to have flipped a switch in her – for the worse.

The forceful movement makes her exclaim, "I'm not going outside!"

Which makes him, in turn, exclaim with equal measure, "You need fresh air!"

"Don't tell me what I need," she hisses at him, stumbling back a step. He just moves forward, cornering her against the back of the chair and shifting his hands to her waist. Her expression immediately darkens, eyes narrowing to angry slits. If her hands weren't broken, Finnick suspects she'd be punching and clawing at him right now.

"You've gotten dressed in front of me before. I swear I won't try to seduce you," he says lightheartedly, trying to keep his frustration out of his voice. "I'll keep my eyes closed if you want – just let me help you."

He starts pulling up her nightgown. Sil immediately lashes out at him despite her broken hands, trying to shove him away as she hollers, "No!"

But it's too late.

He sees the beginnings of an angry red wound on her thigh and, frowning, lifts the hem of the nightgown just high enough to read the word that he hadn't known was there. The sight of it makes him drop everything and step back as if he'd been burned.

"Oh my God," he mutters, staring at the place where the name 'Felix' has been cut into her flesh. When he finally finds the courage to lift his eyes up to hers, he stares at her stricken form with equal distress.

His breath flies out of him. "Sil…" he murmurs, stumbling toward her. But she just steps back on shaky legs, lips drawn tight and eyes wide with unshed tears.

Her movement away from him draws him to an abrupt halt. He rubs his eyes with his hand and turns away from her to sit down in the other chair, moving slowly so as not to scare her, but it's a little late for that.

Her heart is beating wildly, as if it's trying to beat its way out of her chest. Her breath comes out in harsh gasps and her body shakes. Shame curdles within her, grasping onto her innards and twisting her to dust. If she could use her hands, she'd claw her heart out and throw it away.

She doesn't look at Finnick, but she does hear him sigh. It's a heavy sound – heavier than she's ever heard. It sounds like the weight of the entire world is on his shoulders and it makes another brand of shame rise inside her. She is making him miserable.

"I wish you'd have told me…" he whispers. When she finally turns to face him, several long moments later, he's got his head in his hands as he leans over his knees, looking older than she's ever seen him.

Haltingly, she breathes, "It wouldn't have made a difference."

He shakes his head slowly and sighs again, lifting his head to look at her.

"Yeah, it would," he refutes, then pauses, runs a hand through his hair again, and mutters, "It would because out of every Victor in Panem, I'm the one who understands what it's like to be forced into being with someone against your will."

They stare at each other for a long moment, and then Finnick gestures to the chair and gently asks, "Sit?"

At first, she just watches him, but after a moment, when he doesn't try anything else, Sil slowly sidles back to the chair she had just vacated and carefully settles back down. She puts her wrapped hands in her lap and stares down at them like she thinks they're foreign things that don't belong to her body.

Silence, thick and uneasy, shifts between them. It's almost claustrophobic. The ticking of the clock beats through the room like a drum. The air is stilted and awkward. Not knowing what's coming next, Sil doesn't do anything to make it any less so.

Finnick just sits there, still leaning over his knees. He twists his hands in front of him anxiously and remains quiet. He'd told her a little bit about his first client, before, but perhaps he ought to delve deeper into the subject. It's not something he really wants to do – reliving his own personal nightmares, in whatever form, is never fun, and admitting them so openly to the woman he loves is even harder. He'd proven that to himself when he had stumbled over his graceless explanation of his first night as Snow's prostitute.

No, he doesn't want to do this, but as he begins, the words rush out of him. Years of keeping silent on the topic has apparently taken its toll, because once he starts, he can't stop.

"I don't have scars. The Capitol made sure my body was always flawless. But if they hadn't bothered cleaning me up, my skin would be littered with them."

Sil doesn't look at him, and he doesn't look at her. He just keeps talking. He doesn't know what else to do – he's tried everything, without success. Maybe telling her more of his story will drag her out of the depths of her own despair.

"I can't tell you how many times clients would hurt me. Some of them liked the pain. Some of them liked when I was rough…and some of them liked being rough with me. Snow didn't care as long as I satisfied them."

"About two months into my new life, I was assigned a client who…" He trails off and clears his throat, twisting his fingers together until the knuckles turn white, and mutters, "…Who whipped me. Tied me to the bedpost and cut my whole back open just because she got off on the sight of blood."

Sil jerks her head up to stare at him with wide eyes, but he doesn't dare look at her. This is hard enough without seeing the pity on her face.

He's never told anyone this before. No one.

"…I was in pain for days. Could hardly move. I didn't realize, at the time, that Snow had assigned me my own doctor, so I walked around with a raw back for days until someone on my prep team noticed and set up an appointment for me."

"The doctor gave me pain meds and did some surgery. They've got such advanced medical equipment that by the end of the day, it was like it had never happened. Didn't even have a scratch on me."

He bows his head and mumbles, "I was…scared. That it would happen again. But most of my clients were…normal, I guess? As normal as someone can be, when they're buying a human being for a night." He bitterly frowns, "It did happen again though. It's happened so often that after a while, it all started blending together."

He rubs his face and swallows thickly, before whispering, "But the worst part of it…the worst part was when I actually felt pleasure."

He doesn't see it because he's not looking at her, but his sudden admission makes Sil bite her lip hard. Her eyes fill with tears. She's not sure if they're for him, or her, or maybe for the both of them, for having to live through such atrocities.

"It would sicken me. Here I was, being forced to have sex with these strangers who paid for me like some whore – and I…" he shakes his head and presses his forehead against his hands. The sight of him makes Sil's tears spill soundlessly onto her cheeks.

"I felt pleasure, sometimes, despite myself," he mutters, and takes a heavy breath.

"And then afterwards, I'd be so disgusted that I could feel anything besides  _repulsion_  that I'd get physically sick. And the cycle would repeat, over and over. Like I was stuck in this loop that I couldn't escape no matter how hard I tried."

He falls silent and drags his head up to finally look at her, though a large part of him is afraid to face her after this. He's afraid of what he'll see looking back at him. But the sight of Sil silently crying, head tipped back and eyes closed, is not what he expects.

"Sil," he heaves, clenching his fists, "I don't know everything that happened to you, but believe me when I say that I could never judge you for it."

She purses her mouth tightly and opens her eyes to stare at the wall. Her chest feels like it's caving in on her. Breathing is difficult around the tears.

Finnick just swallows and stands up, deciding that perhaps it would be best to give her some time. He hadn't anticipated having such a heavy conversation with her. To be honest, he could use some time, too.

But before he can reach the door, Sil turns around to face him, and what she says stops him in his tracks.

"It was you," she blurts through her tears. She watches him turn to face her with a confused frown on his face. His confusion disappears when she quietly cries, "Felix drugged me. I thought it was you."

And just like that, the fragile ledge that they had carefully built beneath them drops away.


	66. A veteran of wind and rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Sil and Finnick come to a decision.
> 
> Well, this chapter will probably make you all want to tear your hair out because of Sil's stubbornness, but this story is, after all, founded on happy endings being just out of reach...
> 
> Happy Easter and I'll see everyone on Tuesday for the next update!

 

**Chapter Sixty Six | A veteran of wind and rain**

" _Then at least she would be there by his side, to comfort, love and cherish, to cheat death perhaps at the last by making it seem sweet, if they died both together, locked in each other's arms, with the supreme happiness of knowing that passion had responded to passion, and that all misunderstandings were at an end." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

With Dorsey's stolen bottle of brandy in his hands, Finnick Odair finds himself on the veranda once more. This time, he is alone, and grateful for it. His thoughts are churning, his head is spinning, and he feels sick. This doesn't stop him from drinking his way through a good portion of the brandy, though.

His hands shake when he lifts the bottle to his lips. Despite the nausea that threatens to take a more physical form, he takes a generous drink in hopes that it will somehow ground him. But the ground beneath his feet is no longer solid, and he feels like he could float away at any moment. Lost, now, on the ocean he had until recently been convinced he could navigate, he sinks.

Finnick's mind flashes once more to the conversation he had just come from. The conversation that keeps restlessly circling his head on repeat.

" _What?" he breathes. The air in his lungs leaves him in a hard exhalation. He stares at Sil with wide eyes, waiting for her to tell him that she is joking, that what she's saying is not real._

_But she doesn't._

_Holding back tears, she throws herself into the chair and gasps, "Felix was…gentle with me, sometimes, and I – I saw things that weren't there. I saw you instead of him, and I thought – "_

_She breaks off with a grimace and bites her mouth so hard that it draws blood._

_Finnick just stands there in the center of the room, feeling lost and surreal. He can't bring himself to do anything – to speak, to move – so instead he just stares at her with his mouth hanging open and his eyes as wide as saucers._

_He was not expecting this._

" _Then after I…after I…" she swallows and breathes, "He thought it was amusing. He came back later with…with more of the drug. It made me hallucinate and I saw you everywhere – Felix just disappeared and you took his place and I – that's why I've been pushing you away, because I keep confusing you for him and I just keep seeing – "_

_She clenches her eyes closed and curls in on herself._

"… _You keep seeing Felix whenever I'm here," he finishes for her. His voice is thick and his eyes are wet. The sight of her makes his heart shatter in his chest._

_She clamps down on her jaw and doesn't look at him._

" _He…you – you made me feel…I felt good," she whispers. The shame in her eyes bubbles over to the rest of her face and stays there._

" _I liked it, at first," she says, barely coherent. "Because I thought it was you."_

_Then, she falls silent, staring at her hands like they're not even a part of her. Like they're some foreign thing that she doesn't want anymore. A curse._

_And suddenly his hands are covering hers gently, and Sil looks up because she hadn't even noticed that he had crossed the room. If anything, she would have thought that he'd leave in disgust, but –_

_There is no disgust in his eyes._

" _I'm so sorry," he whispers, and reaches for her face. But she flinches away from his touch as if it burns her, and her reaction makes him recoil in turn._

_They stare at each other for a long moment until she croaks, "Please don't, Finnick."_

_His jaw tightens, nostrils flaring, but…he doesn't argue. He just sits there in front of her and sighs, feeling as though there are chains on his heart and they're dragging it down into the depths of the ocean._

Finnick sighs and tips the bottle back. After giving her what comfort he could, and holding her for as long as he could, Finnick had tucked her back into bed and let her rest. A large part of him hadn't wanted to leave, but an even larger part of him needed to think. Which is why he's here, on the veranda, trying to drink away his troubles as he stews on this recent discovery of Sil's torture.

As of right now, he knows only one thing for certain: that he wishes he had the chance to kill Felix himself. A quick death is too merciful for him. Other than that, he feels like he's right back at square one. Helpless and adrift, not knowing what action to take.

How can he help Sil recover from this trauma when he has nothing to compare it to? The thought suddenly makes him sit up as his mind spins with sudden clarity.

Peeta. Peeta's been through something similar. Not exactly the same brand of torture, but similar enough where he might be of some assistance. His mind was hijacked in the cruelest way possible. For months, whenever he saw Katniss, he wanted to kill her. Finnick hadn't been there to witness the majority of Peeta's recovery process, but he knows who was.

Ten minutes later, he's dialing a number on the phone that Hale brings him upon his request.

"Finnick? Is everything okay?" Katniss asks when she hears his greeting. Her voice is confused. She's probably not sure why he's calling her home in District 12, where she returned about a week ago with Peeta and Haymitch in tow.

Finnick doesn't answer immediately. He pauses, trying to figure out how to phrase this.

"What's going on?" she inquires cautiously. He can almost picture the look of fiery confusion on her face.

"I wanted to talk to you because I just found out something about Sil and I need your advice," he rushes out, nearly tripping over his words. Hearing the normally suave and collected Victor so out of sorts has Katniss pausing, until Finnick takes a breath and calmly explains, "Felix drugged Sil with a hallucinogen and she saw me in that room with her. That's why she's been pushing me away all this time, because she keeps seeing Felix whenever I'm around her."

Stricken by this, Katniss falls silent before hesitatingly saying, "I'm sorry, Finnick." She sounds distinctly awkward when she murmurs, "I…I'm not sure what to say."

Finnick just says, "Look, I don't mean to bring up bad memories, but the Capitol did something similar to Peeta. I was just…wondering if you could…I don't know, explain how he recovered from it."

He wasn't there, in District 13, to see the worst of Peeta's hijacking, but he's heard from the other Victors that it was pretty bad.

Katniss just mutters, "He's  _still_  recovering. It's better now that we're back home, but sometimes he wakes up from nightmares and he forgets himself."

The admission makes the hope in Finnick's expression drop away instantly. As if she knows that her words haven't inspired much confidence, Katniss carefully says, "But it doesn't sound like Sil went through the same thing. The Capitol trained Peeta to turn against me…it's not the same. The recovery process might be different."

Her words don't seem to help much. It's strange to see Finnick so downtrodden. He's usually so callous and cheerful. His Capitol persona had never hinted at anything else, but there's clearly more to him than he often shows, especially where Sil is concerned. Katniss always thought pair had seemed so unlikely, but after a while, they just started to fit so well together and now she can hardly think of one without the other.

"Finnick," Katniss says, "she just needs time."

Time. The best cure, but also the longest. A little smile forms on his face. It doesn't reach his eyes.

"Yeah. You're right," he mutters, and doesn't say another word as he hangs up.

* * *

She sees him later, when the evening begins to crest into her room and the silence of the night rears its head. She hates the night the most. It always falls so hard, bringing with it tempestuous and ugly memories that bite at her thoughts and chew her up.

She's partially glad to see Finnick. The rest of her is not.

Even now, she wants him so badly and despises herself for it.

"Hey," he murmurs, stepping into the room. She looks up from her seat by the windows. She watches every move he makes with a wariness that cuts him deeper than any blade. Perhaps it had been too optimistic to think that the moment they had shared earlier that day had fixed the broken rift between them. Perhaps they are  _too_  broken.

"Finnick," she greets. Her voice is scratchy, like she's been crying. He hesitates at this, studying her for a long moment. Her eyes are not red, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything.

With nearly as much wariness as her, he shuffles forward.

"Are you…feeling better tonight?" he asks, and immediately cringes at the question. Sil just turns to stare at her hands.

She bitterly mumbles, "Sure."

He's not sure what's worse: the fact that she's lying or that she's not even making an attempt to pretend otherwise. He awkwardly clears his throat and closes the door.

"Hale made some of those chocolate chip croissants you love so much," he tells her, and asks, "Want me to get you a couple?"

The question makes her wilt for some reason. He figures out why when she turns her head and mutters, "I can't eat them anyhow. My hands are broken. Felix bent my fingers back until they snapped. Then he crushed my hands with his boots for good measure."

It's the most he's heard her speak in days, but the repulsive description makes Finnick recoil. He clenches his jaw tightly and swallows at the mental image her words present. Sil watches him out of the corner of her eye.

She's not sure why she said that. Maybe she wants to horrify him so much that he'll finally realize how ruined she really is, and he'll stop trying to fix her. Maybe a part of her hopes that he'll still leave. Maybe it's what she thinks she deserves.

Instead he just takes a deep breath, collects himself, and says, "He can't hurt you anymore. His execution date is set for the end of the week."

The news makes her stare at him. She's surprised to hear this.

"Is it?" she asks, sounding faraway. It clearly makes him worried, because he walks over to the chair opposite hers and sits down, shuffling closer.

"Sil," he slowly says, his voice quiet and fragile. "…It's been two weeks. I'm not trying to pressure you but…"

Eyes slicing to his, she asks, "But what?"  _Her_  voice is not quiet. It is demanding and arrogant, like she's challenging him.

Does he actually think two weeks is  _enough?_

He just sighs. When he speaks, it isn't what she's expecting.

"I was just thinking. Maybe you'd like to come to District 4. Get out of here. A change of pace, you know?"

She gapes at him. Her response makes him a little nervous, though he doesn't show it outwardly. Putting on one of his  _own_  masks, Finnick smiles at her and shrugs, "You could stay with me at the Village. Or with Annie, if it's more comfortable. Maybe it would help." When she keeps staring at him with her mouth hanging open, he adds, "It could be for however long you want. A few days. A couple weeks. Or longer."

She looks like she's at a complete loss for words. He's…not sure how he feels about that. With a nervous laugh, Finnick looks down and twists his fingers together. The movement makes her look down too, staring at his hands as a forlorn expression captures her eyes. The sight of it makes him stop moving entirely. He holds his breath and waits.

When she remains silent, he sighs, feeling a little frustrated, and says, "Please at least tell me you'll think about it." A hint of his frustration leaks out into his voice. Sil hears it.

She turns her face away with a tight expression and says, "No."

Taken aback at the adamant refusal, Finnick stares at her with eyes that are quick to blaze with more of his frustration. The emotion smolders through him. Even now, she makes him crazy. Only this time, it brings with it a sense of helpless frustration that he struggles to push down.

"No, what?" he asks stiffly. "No you won't think about it, or no you don't want to come to District 4?"

She purses her mouth. "I don't want your  _charity."_

She says the word like its repulsive and he recoils again. Then, gritting his teeth, he laughs,  _"Charity?_  Is that what you think this is?"

She glances at him from the corner of her eyes. Her gaze is like lead. It drags him down into its depths and suffocates him with poison.

Instead of answering his question, Sil frowns and mutters very quietly, "Go home, Finnick."

He immediately balks. At first he doesn't think he hears her.

"…What?" he whispers.

She just closes her eyes. "Go back to District 4. Go home."

Fists clenching into the armchair, he stares at her in shock and hurt, as if her words have scorched him. And then –

Biting out a laugh, he repeats,  _"Go home?_  Give me one good reason why I should let you write me off after everything we've been through."

He means it as a challenge and she takes it as one, but he doesn't expect just how far she is willing to go. She turns to him with a blaze of fire burning in her eyes and scorns, "After everything we've been through? Are you referring to our fake relationship or the way we fancied ourselves to  _actually_  be in love at the end of it all?"

His jaw clenches. Anger invades his face but she doesn't shy away from it. Instead she just sits up straighter and exclaims, "I can't look at you Finnick. I can't look at you without seeing him."

He swallows tightly, "That wasn't – "

"It  _was_  you!" she interrupts, standing up and towering over him. "It doesn't matter that you weren't actually there _. I saw you."_ She laughs bitterly. "It was a dream, nothing more Finnick. Our time together can  _never_  be anything more. We just…we don't belong in each other's worlds. If it weren't for Snow, we never would have even crossed paths. You used to hate me – "

When he opens his mouth to refute her claim, she exclaims, "You did, Finnick. I saw it in your eyes every time you looked at me. Did you really think I was blind?"

He runs a hand through his head, taken aback by the sudden force of her anger. He's never seen her so angry. He's a little speechless in the face of it, and his surprise isn't helping his own anger, which shakes through his body as he fists his hands and stares at her.

"Just leave, Finnick," she pleads, "I need time to heal and I need to do it by myself. Go back to your home and your ocean. You don't belong in the desert any more than I belong on the shore," she mutters, and turns away.

He just gapes at her, heart pounding. It's laced with pain. It flounders in his chest and makes it difficult to breathe. Her words make all his anger drain away. In its place is a desperation that only makes him flounder all the more.

"I…Silver. I  _love_  you," he tells her, staring at her back. He watches it stiffen. Standing up, he crosses the room in three paces and takes her arms to turn her around. And, before she can stop him, he leans down and kisses her.

For five heartbreakingly beautiful seconds, she melts against him like she's merely been waiting for this. She leans forward and he thinks that maybe they'll be okay. Maybe they'll be able to navigate through this after all. Maybe everything will work out. But nothing lasts forever.

Five seconds, and then she's pushing herself away from him with a horrified gasp and cringes back, shaking her head as she goes. And Finnick can only stare at her with his own brand of horror perforating the holes that she is spearing into his heart.

"Please…" she whispers, staring down at her feet. "Just go."

Shoulders set, he idles there for a moment, watching her with dark eyes. She wallows beneath his gaze, but holds an outward façade of nonchalant carelessness, and if his pain doesn't faze her.

He doesn't believe her.

She's right, in one way at least. Their time together  _has_  been a dream. Despite his initial unease regarding their forced relationship, he no longer feels the same derision towards her. Though the past two weeks have splintered them apart in ways that shake him to his core, the time before that had been nothing short of a blissful dream that he had fallen only too willingly into. Maybe she's right. Maybe they don't belong in each other's worlds. It doesn't matter. He will just create a new world for them. A world all their own.

Instead of leaving, Finnick just crosses his arms and sends her a piercing look. "I told you before. I'm not going anywhere. You can try to push me away all you want but it isn't going to work."

The immediate reel of frustration that spools through her eyes is obvious. He watches her carefully, waiting for more of her anger, but all he gets is a resigned sigh and a tired look.

"You're too stubborn for your own good, Finnick," she tells him. He sends her a smile. It's a little tight and a little cold but it's genuine.

After a few lengthy seconds, he quietly asks, "Is it so wrong that I love you? Are we not allowed our own happiness, Sil? I understand that you need time. I'll give you as much time as you want. Hell, I'll even go back to District 4 if you really want me to, but…" he pauses, steps forward to gently take her by the arms, and sighs, "You made me a promise before, that you'd come to me when you're ready. Can I still hold you to that?"

He watches her eyes water and all he wants to do is pull her into his arms, but instinct stops him. She needs time, he tells himself. It's hard not to give into his impulses though.

She shivers, closing her eyes. When she speaks, it is but a breath of sound that he barely catches before it is swept away like sand on a desert wind.

"Do you really still want me?" she asks. To his consternation, her question brings tears to his own eyes, and he takes a few second to compose himself before answering.

"Silver," he whispers, voice just as quiet, like he is trying to preserve the sacred air between them. "…I think I'll always want you." Then, awkwardly, he wonders, "And will you…?"

Her expression crumbles at the tentative inquiry. She blinks back tears. Some of them spill over before she can rein them back. She cries, "I want you so badly, Finnick, but I – I just  _can't_ …"

She can't have him when she still sees Felix in the eyes that peer down at her. The horrifying twist of her perception is shameful. Seeing Finnick as anyone but the man she has come to know him as is a terrible thing. He doesn't deserve this injustice, or the pain that she knows he feels whenever she cringes back from him and avoids his gaze.

"I think…that I need some time to heal on my own, Finnick," she whispers to him. He gives her a watery smile and brushes her tears away, but doesn't argue this time. Maybe he realizes that it's for the best.

She wishes she had her hands. If she could touch him, hold his face between her fingers and bring him close then perhaps she could more easily overcome her sudden wariness towards his person.

He sighs. His breath warms her cheek.

"Okay," he murmurs after a long, drawn out moment. He presses his forehead against hers and whispers, "This isn't goodbye. I'll be waiting for you, okay? I'll be waiting in District 4. Promise me you'll come."

She looks up at him. He caresses her cheek gently.

"…I don't know when – " she starts to say, but he just brushes his thumb over her mouth to halt her words and tells her, "I don't care if you take one month or one  _year_. Just promise me you'll come."

Her breath catches. His words are so ardent, so beautiful that she can hardly breathe. What did she do to deserve this man? It is something she will think about often, in the weeks to come.

Instead of answering, Sil very slowly leans in to press her mouth to his in a chaste kiss. He holds very still when she does, partially because he wants to memorize this press of affection as completely as he feels it now, and partially because he's surprised that she would willingly touch him after she's spent the last two weeks avoiding all contact.

This is something that he will think on, too, in the weeks that follow. Specifically, he will think back upon the fact that, in the midst of the kiss she gives him, she does not make any such promise to him at all. And much later, when he finds himself sitting alone on his porch in District 4, looking up at the stars and wishing he had her pressed against his side, he will think of her kiss as more of a goodbye than anything else.

For…when he takes his leave of District 1 the next morning, leaving the Cornelius estate and all its grandeur behind him, he doesn't realize just how long it will actually take for Silver Lamprey Cornelius to build up enough courage to see him again.

He waits anyway, under starlight, and he buries his heart in the damp sand of District 4 and pretends that it is not damp at all, but – that it is dry and arid and that the piercing desert sun surrounds it with warmth and light and her.


	67. With no secrets, anymore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Sil goes to the Capitol.
> 
> Thanks for the reviews! This chapter is broken into quite a few scenes regarding what's happening with Sil, from her perspective. The next few chapters will swing between Sil and Finnick and explain what they're both doing in their respective districts.
> 
> I'll see everyone on Friday for the next update!

**Chapter Sixty Seven | With no secrets, anymore**

" _Listlessly she sat in the small, still deserted boudoir, looking out through the curtained doorway on the dancing couples beyond: looking at them, yet seeing nothing, hearing the music, yet conscious of naught save a feeling of expectancy, of anxious, weary waiting." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

Finnick's absence is a blessing and a disaster. Sil is both relieved that she is left alone and bereaved at the separation. On some days, she is grateful. On others, she mourns so deeply that her entire world shudders into darkness. The first month, she struggles with the two conflicting emotions. The second month she enters into a resigned silence that neither her parents nor Hale's efforts can alter.

Gemma and Aurelius take the lead in her healing. They make sure that she gets up in the morning and take her for short walks around the Cornelius grounds. Her father says that the fresh air is supposed to help, but honestly, Sil only complies because she knows how worried he is. As for Hale and the rest of the household staff, they pepper her with small gifts ranging from her favorite foods to the chocolate chip croissants she adores so much, hoping that it will entice her into eating more. She humors them, but the moment they turn their backs on her, she pushes the food away.

This isn't what she wants or needs, but the person who fills both those descriptions is far away and she is afraid to pick up the phone and call him.

The first month, Finnick had been adamant about calling her at least every other day. The new life he is forging for himself in District 4 sounds beautiful. He regales her with stories of his new job at the docks. He eagerly tells her about the new boat he's purchased, how he spends hours each day cleaning it up and repainting it. He tells her that, when she comes to visit him, he'll let her pick out a proper name for it and they can paint it in bold letters on the helm. It's a pretty picture, and she humors him too, but inside she reels from the happiness that exudes from his voice and the newfound freedom he has found, away from the Capitol's clutches.

She's so happy for him. Truly. She just wishes she could be a part of it.

Inside she knows that if she were to board the train that very hour and head off to District 4, he would open his arms to her and accept her into that pretty life. But…she isn't ready. She repeats that every day to herself, until after a while, it becomes something of a mantra to her. Deep in her heart she knows that she's just afraid.

Of what, she cannot say. Happiness? Love? It seems silly to be so fearful of such wonderful things, but such is the fickle temper of human nature. She is not exempt from its roiling grasp.

Sometimes Finnick asks her what she's been up to. She has little to say. Truthfully, she's been up to very little. Her days are spent resting. Sometimes she spends hours trying to push away tears that threaten to overcome her. Sometimes her father takes her out into the city and buys her little gifts, like he used to when she was a girl. Most days she just stares out the window of her bedroom, wishing that the piercing desert sun would swallow her up.

By the second month, Finnick's phone calls begin to lessen. He tells her that he's really busy working the docks. He has long hours, but he doesn't complain. He loves earning an actual paycheck. She smiles at this, but he doesn't see, because he's hundreds of miles away from her.

His calls gradually start coming at odd hours because of his work. She misses some of them because she's asleep, or meeting with her doctor, or in the city with her father. After a while, it starts to feel like he doesn't call at all, but she knows she's just being selfish. She's selfish about a lot of things. She's her own worst enemy.

At the end of two months, the doctor says she can get her casts removed. She's so relieved and happy for the first time in weeks that she reaches out and calls Finnick to tell him about it, but he doesn't pick up. He's probably working. She understands. She does.

She's asked Hale to keep her updated on Felix, too. His execution date has been changed several times as more and more information come through the courts. All of it further discriminates him in the eyes of the newfound government that is slowly being built from the remains of the Capitol. Several articles have already been written that label him as a 'war criminal' and an 'agent of Snow's former regime', but for some reason, he is yet alive, rotting away in some cell within the city that he had once helped to rule, continuing to breathe in precious minutes of life. This, too, puts her in a strange, morose mood, and she knows that Hale isn't telling her everything. Everyone tiptoes around her even now, as if they are afraid that she will recede into nothingness with the lightest breeze.

"I've scheduled an appointment at one of the hospitals in the Capitol," her father tells her later that day, trying to pull her out of the sullen silence she'd fallen into when Finnick hadn't answered his phone. It's silly, but…

She's selfish.

"The Capitol?" she asks slowly. Her voice sounds far away and lifeless.

Gemma stares at her for a long minute before he kneels in front of her and carefully takes her hand in his. She's still wearing soft casts to protect the fragile bones, but they're so much better than the bulky things she endured for the last month while the worst of the fractures healed.

"Dove," her father gingerly says, "the Capitol has such extensive medical technology that I'm sure they can fix you right up. And then, once we start your physical therapy, you'll be back to painting the walls every chance you get." He chuckles at this, and she smiles for his benefit. She hopes he's right. Then, his face falls into a neutral mask that only just hides the concern blazing through his eyes, and he slowly tells her, "They've moved the execution, too. It's set on the same day as the appointment."

No further explanation needs to be given. The 'execution' could only mean one thing.

Trying not to appear as rattled as she feels upon this news, Sil looks up into the eyes of her father and whispers, "…Is it?" She almost can't believe it. They've pushed the date back so many times in the last month that it seems almost surreal to have a concrete date.

Gemma glances over his shoulder where Aurelius comes to linger in the doorway. Their eyes meet briefly, and when he turns back to his daughter, his voice is a little stronger.

"I'm against the idea, but your mother thinks that it would help you to see…to see it," he clears his throat and frowns.

Aurelius sighs from the threshold and steps forward, sinking to the floor beside Sil's chair and gingerly touching her unbandaged arm. "Sometimes getting closure can help. What do you think, darling?"

Sil doesn't even have to think. Her eyes are a little colder, and her voice completely unwavering, when she immediately responds, "I want to see it."

She doesn't say anything more, but inside she reels from the sheer need that pulses through her. To witness Felix's death will help, if only to prove to her that he will never again hurt her. Perhaps she will be able to sleep better during the nights, without fear that he will return to her life. Perhaps the knowledge that he is no longer on this earth will help her heal.

"When are we leaving?" she asks her father.

He squeezes her arm gently, "On friday. I'll be with you every step of the way, my dear."

His comforting presence is so relieving to her that she gives him a teary smile and tells him, "I love you, father." She turns to look at her mother too, and Aurelius smiles gently at her.

Gemma very gently raises her bandaged hand to his lips and kisses the cast tenderly, whispering the words back in a choked-up voice.

* * *

Finnick calls her back later. She's so pleased to talk to him that she eagerly leans into the phone that Hale presses against her ear and says, "Finnick!"

His tired voice responds with an exhausted, "Sorry I missed your call, sugar. You know I'm busy during the day."

There's something in the way he says those words that make her feel a little pathetic. He's not judging her, of course. She's heard plenty of judgement in his voice back in the times  _before_  to know the difference. But the way his words come across, coupled with the exhaustion in his voice, makes her feel like she's so useless right now, lavishing away in her manor while he works himself ragged carving out a new life for himself. It makes her flounder.

"…Of course," she responds primly, feeling suddenly embarrassed for being so excited to tell him something that he probably doesn't even care to know. It isn't as if getting her casts removed impacts his day to day life, after all. And as for Felix's execution, she doesn't even want to say his name aloud, let alone tell Finnick that she is planning on being there for it.

After a short silence, he wonders, "What have you been up to? Do anything new today?"

The question only makes her feel even worse, so she just mumbles, "…Not really. Everything is pretty much…the same, I suppose."

It isn't entirely a lie.

Finnick is optimistic when he says, "Well don't worry, sugar. Give it another month or two and you'll be right as rain."

She doesn't really know what to say to that, so she just hums in hesitant agreement and falls silent. For the first time that Sil can remember, it feels suddenly awkward to talk to him.

He clears his throat, no doubt feeling the awkwardness as well, and tells her, "I'm making seared salmon for dinner. I should go check to make sure they're not burning. I'll call you later, okay?"

It's a flimsy excuse, really. Finnick Odair would never burn salmon. Cooking seafood is practically hardwired into his DNA.

Instead of calling him out on it though, Sil just mumbles, "Yeah. Later."

His voice is suave and collected when he purrs, "Night, sugar," and hangs up before she can respond. For some reason, it makes her want to burst into tears.

* * *

When Gemma takes her to the Capitol later that week, it feels so strange to be back after everything that's happened. Commander Paylor has been voted in as the new President of Panem, and she's doing a wonderful job. As for Plutarch, he's accepted a job as the Secretary of Communications in the new government, and is busy helping to create a new Panem. When he hears that Sil and Gemma are in the city, he invites them to an early lunch before they head back home.

She undergoes surgery on her hands. Now that they're healed, for the most part, it is much safer to do. The individual nerves of each finger are stitched back together with their fancy technology, and when the doctor carefully pivots her wrist and hand after it's all over, the pain has marginally decreased. She leaves the hospital clutching her father's arm, wearing the largest grin she's had in months.

Walking along the Capitol streets, she feels more at home than in her own manor. She feels like Silver Lamprey Cornelius – instead of the sullen, broken girl that has wallowed in her own misery these last few weeks. It's a huge change that Gemma notices immediately.

They're leaving the hospital when a familiar voice catches Sil quite off guard.

"The fuck are you doing here?" Johanna Mason casually inquires as she passes Sil on the way inside the building. Sil, naturally, does a double-take.

"Johanna?" she asks, shocked to see her. Her fellow Victor snorts.

The last time she's seen Johanna, her hair had all been chopped off and she was stoically prowling the recently overtaken halls of Snow's mansion, barking at anyone who looked at her wrong. Now, her skin is healthier, her eyes less dull, and her hair has grown past her ears.

"Finnick told me about your…injuries," the other woman says, sounding slightly uncomfortable. The information makes Sil equally uncomfortable.

Finnick told her? What did he say? How many people did he tell? How much did he tell them? The questions roil up inside her like a storm. Johanna seems to notice.

"I'm glad you're on the mend," Johanna tells her, looking entirely genuine. Sil is at a total loss for words.

"I…thank you, Johanna," she stumbles, glancing over at her father for support. The older man just shrugs and idles beside the two women with no intention of getting in the middle of their sudden run-in.

Clearing her throat, Sil asks, "What are you doing here?"

The question makes Johanna bark out a laugh. She peers at Sil with a smirk and drawls, "My doctor back in 7 set up an appointment with this up and coming therapist. Apparently everyone thinks I'm batshit crazy. Funny, right?"

Sil actually laughs. It's a real laugh, not one of the fake ones she's been spewing whenever she feels like it's a necessary reaction. Beaming at Johanna with amused eyes that twinkle with what could almost be described as mischief, Sil playfully tells her, "If it makes you feel any better, Johanna, I've  _always_  thought you were crazy."

The smile that Johanna sends her in return is actually sincere. Well, as sincere as she can make it, considering that her and Sil have never really been friends.

"What are you doing now?" Sil asks her, eager for information. She hasn't kept in contact much with the other Victors. She was never that close to them, so the short ties she's made over the final arc of the war have fallen rather poignantly to the wayside.

Johanna just shrugs and crosses her arms. "Well, I've gotten a new house. Finally moved out of that shitty place in the Victor's Village. Always hated it there. I'm working at one of the lumber yards back in 7, now. We're trying to open lines up across Panem and start trading directly with the other districts. It's a lot of work, but it keeps me busy. Makes me feel useful, I guess."

Sil smiles hesitantly and says, "That's great. I'm glad."

There's that word again – useful.

With a grunt, Johanna asks, "What about you?"

The question makes Sil flounder. She pauses for a few seconds too long, and haltingly murmurs, "I'm just…you know. Just focused on healing." She looks down at the pavement and shrugs.

Johanna stares at her. After an awkward moment, she says, "Well from what I hear, you've been through hell. You deserve to take a break."

A year ago, Sil never would have laughed hysterically if she knew she'd be having this conversation with Johanna. It's definitely unexpected.

With an awkward chuckle, Sil glances up at her and asks, "What did Finnick tell you?"

Johanna raises an eyebrow and thoughtfully muses, "Just that Felix did a number on you. Broke your hands. Locked you up." She pauses, then adds, "He's been busy, you know. Finnick. Apparently he's been working his ass off trying to save up enough money to buy some romantic cottage by the shore that he wants to grow old in." She repeats that last bit with a grossed-out tone, making Sil wonder if those were his exact words. She stares at Johanna in shocked silence, not sure what to say.

"I – really?" she stumbles. Beside her, Gemma hides a smile.

Johanna rolls her eyes at Sil and scoffs, "Yeah, you idiot. Last time I talked to him, he said it's over his pay range right now, so he's saving up for it."

This is news to Sil, who gapes at Johanna like a fish out of water.

"He never told me that," she says. All other words fail her.

With a snort, the older Victor eyes Sil and retorts, "Well maybe you should  _call_  him for once, instead of making him do everything all the time."

Floundering even more now, Sil stares at Johanna in silence and then mumbles, "Gracious…"

The word makes Johanna burst into laughter. She shakes her head and shoves Sil lightly, in what Sil could almost describe as a friendly gesture – for Johanna, anyway.

"I'm gonna be late to my therapy session," she says with a sarcastic cringe. "But maybe I'll see you around, yeah?"

Sil nods hesitantly and watches her go. She turns back to her father, and he smirks at her. She huffs and strides out into the street. Johanna's words follow her with every step she takes, making her feel lighter than ever as she walks down the familiar streets with Gemma at her side.

Finnick wants to buy a cottage – for the two of them? The thought makes her so happy she thinks she might burst.

* * *

When the Cornelius duo arrive at the Presidential manor where Plutarch's office is located, he gathers them into the private dining room, takes one look at Sil, and grins, "You look fantastic, Silver. How are you feeling?"

She gives him a genuine smile and says, "Much better, darling. And you? How are you fitting into your new lifestyle?"

Plutarch launches off into an in-depth description of his new line of work. Sil is fascinated by the inner workings of being in such a high-ranking position, and yet at the same time, Plutarch's eager voice makes her feel useless once more. Does everyone have a new life, except her? Has everyone moved on? Is she the only one stuck in the past?

It is a terrible feeling, knowing that you have been left behind while your friends soar to new heights. As she pokes at her plate with her fragile fingers and struggles to lift her fork without accidentally shaking the food off of it, Plutarch seems to catch sight of her bearings. He's always been more observing than people assume him to be.

"Silver," he slowly says, glancing at Gemma out of the corner of his eye. Sil looks up at him curiously, and he leans back in his chair. "…I have a proposition for you."

"A proposition?" she repeats in confusion. She looks over at her father, but he only gestures for her to turn her attention back to Plutarch.

The new President of Panem puts his hands together on the table and says, "I want to celebrate the war heroes. Give the people something to talk about and renew their morale, you know? I was thinking of setting up a column in the newspaper and interviewing some of the main players. You're the Sterling Nightingale and people don't know a whole lot about your real accomplishments."

She's…well she's shocked. Glancing over at her father, she asks, "Did you know about this?"

Gemma Cornelius just shrugs, eyes twinkling merrily, and pats her arm with good natured amusement. "I may have been previously informed."

Sil just laughs at him and his mischief.

"But – do you think people would really be interested?" she asks Plutarch, turning back to him with a raised eyebrow. The war is over. Snow is dead, and Panem is free. No one needs the Sterling Nightingale anymore. Her job is done.

Plutarch just says, "I'm sure they would be, and if not, we would  _make_  them interested. I've managed to convince Caesar Flickerman to host a new show. He's been looked into extensively after the war, but his only crime was spreading Snow's propaganda. He's agreed."

Sil thinks it over. It does make sense, she supposes. From a tactical viewpoint, celebrating the key players that had helped to create the new government could only be beneficial to the still shaky atmosphere of the changed Panem. There's still the issue of convincing the career districts, who are not yet completely supporting these changes, that the country is only going to improve from here. In a way, this is just another form of propaganda, but cultivating the public opinion is imperative where it concerns avoiding small scale revolts as they move forward.

"What will it entail?" she wonders.

At this, Plutarch explains, "We're still working out the details, but you'll be called in to do a few interviews for magazines and newspapers, and you'll be on Flickerman's new show a few times as well. We'll ask you questions about how you became the Nightingale and how you helped with the war efforts."

Sil does have to admit that it sounds simple enough. She's sat for plenty of interviews before, both on television and off of it, so she isn't camera shy. If it would assist the country in some small way, then she would be willing. And…she's not sure what her future will be like. For the first time in her life, she's got no idea where she's heading. If nothing else, doing this will at least give her something to do while she figures that out. Something to work towards, like Finnick and Johanna.

"…You'll want me to come to the Capitol for the magazine interviews as well, I presume," she says, thinking now about District 1 and her parents and the huge, beautiful mansion that she calls her own.

Plutarch leans back and shrugs, "Think about it and get back to me. The offer will still be open to you."

She pauses, staring down at her fragile hands. Her fingers shake a little, but the doctors tell her that with physical therapy, she can rebuild the muscle to the point where she can reduce the shaking. She stares at them like they're foreign things, and then slowly looks up at Plutarch.

"I don't need to think about it," she tells him, "I accept. When do I start?"

Plutarch beams. He's obviously happy that she's agreed. She's happy too. It gives her a startlingly beautiful sense of purpose, at least for a short while as the columns are being published – something that she's been sorely lacking.

"Whenever you want," he tells her. "Whenever you feel like you're ready."

She smiles and says, "Give me a few weeks. I'll be in touch."

He nods in agreement, and that is that.

* * *

Her buoyant mood doesn't last for long once her father and her leave the President's Manor. After lunch, the two of them head over to the city square, where it seems as if the entire population of the city is gathered. Felix's execution has drawn a crowd, but Sil is content to remain at the back of it even though she can't see him very well. She doesn't need to look into his eyes as his death sentence is carried out. She needs only to see it happen, to watch his spirit leave his body. Besides, her father is already uncomfortable to there as it is.

Besides the fact that he had been against the idea of bringing his daughter to her rapist's execution from the very beginning, Gemma has always hated the Capitol. Snow's regime has brought his family nothing but hardships time and time again, and even though coming here today had been necessary for Sil's healing, he is more than ready to leave the cold embrace of its borders.

"Are you sure you want to do this, dove?" he asks her for the forth time that day, peering over the heads of hundreds of citizens as various war criminals are led up the stairs of a large marble platform. Felix is not the only man to die today, but he is the only one that she wants to see.

Like all the other times her father had asked, Sil merely responds, "Yes, father." Still, though she says nothing more, she does carefully turn her newly healed fingers into the crease of his sleeve to clutch him, taking from him as much comfort as he can afford.

As they wait, Gemma turns to look down at her and smiles gently. "So…a romantic cottage by the sea, huh?"

Sil immediately blushes. It is, admittedly, a strange time for teasing. Beyond the crowd, four men are made to stand side by side with nooses around their necks, and the sound of the floor being tipped out from beneath their feet can be heard even from where they stand.

"Have you spoken with him recently?" her father wonders in a more serious voice, relenting on his teasing.

Sil shrugs and picks at a loose thread of her sleeve. Her alter ego would be horrified at such shoddy construction.

"…The other day," she says, being purposefully vague. The truth is, she hasn't spoken to Finnick in a while. Their last conversation had been so stilted and hesitant that she can hardly even remember what they'd talked about.

Gemma gently pats her hand, then scoops it up in his own in an attempt to steady the shaking fingers that the doctor said would most likely be a lifelong burden. Her bones had been so shattered that not even the Capitol's medical technology could repair everything, but at least she can still use her hands for most things, and in time the shaking should get better – or so they had said.

"You should call him tonight and tell him about the interviews," Gemma murmurs, and Sil hums idly in agreement, but she doesn't respond to him. She doesn't respond because at that moment, she sees the face of her personal demon being led onto the platform, and all she can do is stare.

Felix looks scruffier than she's used to. Being locked up in a cell for weeks has made him thinner and paler, yet still as menacing as always. He keeps his eyes trained straight ahead as he walks up the stairs, and even though they are standing at the edge of the large crowd, Sil suddenly wishes that there was more space between them. He is altogether too close even now.

Yet she is glad that she came. It is difficult to describe, the feeling that burgeons within her at the sight of his death. It is a strange sort of relief that catches into her – so light that it feels like an errant wind slipping through her skin and passing right through her. It isn't as powerful as she had expected it would be, but it is no less relieving.

Unlike the Peacekeeper generals and other war criminals, Felix is beheaded. She thinks that it's too quick and painless for him, but a part of her is glad that it isn't as drawn out as it could be. She watches as he is made to kneel, watches as the executioner draws back his ax and brings it down on his neck, watches as his head rolls into a basket and the momentum of the swing makes his body slide off the block.

Then, swallowing thickly, Sil turns her eyes to the bright blue sky that hangs over the square and watches the rays of sun beat down upon them, her heart beating erratically in her chest.

Her father grasps her tighter and breathes, "Do you feel better?"

The question makes her pause. She swallows again, narrows her eyes against the bright sun, and says, "…Yes."

To be honest, she isn't entirely sure if she's lying, but then she isn't sure if she's not, either.

* * *

Some hours later when they arrive back in District 1, Gemma is pleased when Sil scampers off to her room to change into something more comfortable, trilling, "Don't bother sending the nurses, father, I'm perfectly fine!"

He chuckles in her wake, relieved that she is acting more herself. The train ride home had been quiet. Sil had been lost in thought, and he hadn't wanted to interrupt wherever her mind had gone. The moment they had pulled into the station, though, her mood had marginally uplifted, mainly because she had been so pleased at being able to use her hands to do menial tasks that, before, had been impossible. Opening the car door, for example, and ntying her shoes and taking her coat off.

Though her hands are still weak and she can't grip anything tightly without feeling pain, Sil is able to carefully shuffle into a new set of clothes. Then, balancing the phone between her shoulder and her ear, she dials the number she knows by heart.

It's late, about nine o'clock in the evening, so she knows that Finnick will be home. When he picks up, she laughingly says, "Finnick darling, you'll never guess what's happened today. I was in the Capitol to get my hands checked, and I ran into Johanna, and Plutarch offered me – "

"Sil? Do you think you can call me back tomorrow? I was about to head over to the docks to tie the boat down. There's a huge storm rolling in," he interrupts. He sounds a little sorry, but there's also a bit of anxious impatience in his voice that cuts her off far better than mere words alone.

"Oh, well yes, of course," she says, but before he can hang up, she sits higher and adds, "Before you go though – Johanna told me you're looking at buying a cottage! Tell me what it's like?"

She's excited to hear more. She wants to know every detail. The whole prospect is dreamy to her – she thinks it's the most romantic thing anyone's ever done.

But Finnick just pauses, and says, "Uh…well, there's not much to tell. Annie really likes it and I thought it'd be a nice change of pace."

He says something about his desire to get out of the Victor's house he's lived in since his Games – too many bad memories – but Sil doesn't really hear him. She's focused on something else entirely.

Annie? What does Annie have to do with anything? She bites her lip and frowns, feeling at once disheartened and confused.

She wants to ask him why Annie is involved, and how she's involved, and if he's buying the house for her or if she's just giving her opinion or something, but before Sil can, Finnick is saying, "Look, sugar, I really need to go. These storms get pretty bad and I  _can't_  lose the boat. It's my only source of income right now. Can we just – talk later, okay?"

She quietly murmurs, "…Later, then," but he's already hung up.

Her buoyant mood from before crashes down around her like shards of glass. The distance between them has never felt so stark and barren before, but now it feels like there is a whole world separating them, and every second they spend apart is another mile that is added to the long stretch of road that runs from the desert to the sea.

She tells herself she's being silly. She knows how Finnick feels about her – he's shown it, expressed it both with and without the verbal word. And yet…

If he really is preparing a life for her, why does she feel like she could never, will never, be a part of it?

She leans back in the chair, hangs up the phone, and stares down at her hands. She supposes there's a reason why they call it 'falling in love'. It's because the drop is like a crash that tears even as it revives. It's because love isn't easy, and the falling is often unexpectedly endless.

She doesn't call him the next day. She's afraid of falling so deeply. She suddenly thinks she's never been more afraid of anything in her life.


	68. To keep me afloat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Finnick goes about his newfound life in District 4, and waits.
> 
> I don't usually write with any kind of background noise that might distract me, but for Finnick's scenes in this arc, I do recommend listening to The Corries 'The Loch Tay Boat Song'. It inspired me so much that I ended up listening to it while writing the majority of chapters regarding him. It's a gorgeous song and it fits rather well with what he's going through. Anyway, please enjoy!

 

**Chapter Sixty Eight | To keep me afloat**

" _Is it that you have the taste to renew the devilish sport which you played so successfully last year? Do you wish to see me once more a love-sick suppliant at your feet, so that you might again have the pleasure of kicking me aside, like a troublesome lap-dog?" Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

"Hey, watch where you're throwing that thing!" a loud voice shouts from the other end of the docks. Finnick chuckles, looking up just in time to see old man Rory hurl the end of a rope back into a docked boat. The boy who had slipped up is a new worker who is here to learn the basics, and he hurries to grasp it before it falls back into the water.

The six o'clock sun pours down on the docks of District 4 with beautiful splendor. As it reflects off the ocean's surface, it seems to turn the water into a thousand gems that glitter with wild intention back at him. Most of the district is already up. There's work to be done, and the docks are already bustling with activity. The shopkeepers will be up soon enough to sell their wares – that is, if the raucous yells from the fishermen don't wake them first. Finnick grins and looks around, nodding to a few of the men he's become friendly with over the last few weeks. They're a hardly bunch, and he's proud to be a part of something so honest and straightforward.

Hands casually stuffed into his pockets, Finnick arrives on the scene just as the tackle shop door swings open and out steps Rory's wife. In a lot of ways, Cordella is even tougher than her husband. Especially when someone refers to her by her full name instead of the shortened, less girly one she prefers.

"Della!" Finnick greets as he approaches. She grins widely at him and claps him on the back the moment he's in range. He tries not to flinch – she slaps really hard.

"Hey, look, it's the prettiest man in Panem!" she exclaims to the docks at large, ruffling his hair playfully. In response, she gets several jeering laughs and retorts from nearby sailors. Someone even shouts, "Toss 'im in the water!", much to Finnick's amusement. He laughs and darts away, hands up in surrender.

"Well get Odair over here, woman!" Rory yells when he hears his wife's loud voice. "We've got a quota to fill! Best get our nets out early."

Della gives Finnick a smile and pats him on the back. As her husband curses rather colorfully at the teenage boy, Finnick sighs, "Guess I should probably go save that kid from Rory's fury."

Della snorts, "Go on, then." He turns to where his own boat sits proudly beside Rory's larger helm, but Della calls him back. "You've got a paycheck waiting for you after your shift, Odair." With a smirking grin, she adds, "Still saving up to bring that pretty lady home?"

Finnick feels himself smile a little bit, but he bites it down with an embarrassed laugh and a duck of his head. Della snickers at his expense, amused at how he can't seem to reach his boat fast enough.

He can't. The nearby sailors who had heard Della's mischievous question all start shouting, "Yeah, when'll we see 'er, Odair?", and "Is she as pretty in person as she is on TV?", and "This pretty boy's a romantic fool, ain't he boys?"

Finnick, for his part, just calmly climbs onto his boat with a loud laugh and shouts back, "She's the prettiest girl in Panem! Just wait till you see her!"

The cheers that bolster through the docks are louder than usual that morning, made all the more potent by the way Finnick doesn't hesitate to describe white-blonde hair and twinkling green eyes and sun kissed skin and a desert heart. By the end of the day, when Finnick is sailing back to the docks as the sun sinks into the horizon below him, he leans back in the ocean breeze and imagines her beside him, tucked into his side and chirping about whatever holds her current fancy. He chuckles at the thought. He can already imagine her quick words bathed in the cadence of her excitement.

He promised her, once upon a time, that he would take her out for a proper boat ride, when the sun casts its glow upon the ocean and the sky is blushed pink with morning. He hopes she comes soon, because it is a promise he is eager to fulfill.

* * *

"Bad luck, you know, sailing around in an unnamed boat," Rory tells him later that evening when Finnick and him idle at the docks after the other sailors head home. He passes the Victor a flask of homemade rum as he eyes Finnick's vessel with a musing gaze.

Finnick's been doing a lot of work on it. He spends nearly all his spare time revamping the boat. It needs a lot of work, but it's already come a long way in the past few months since Finnick's bought it. He's put his heart and soul into restoring the vessel.

Finnick just shrugs and starts to say, "I'm waiting for – "

"Your girl," Rory finishes roughly. "So you've said."

A brief silence falls between them, before Rory mutters, "She sure is taking her time."

The reminder makes Finnick swallow tightly. He kicks the dock with a hum.

"She'll come," he says with a voice full of resolution. Inside though, his heart quivers just a little. It's been almost three months, and he hasn't spoken with Sil in weeks. He's been so busy that he's barely had time to eat, let alone set his work aside to call her.

Rory gives him a sideways glance but remains silent. It's the quiet way he allows Finnick to cling to his hope that's the worst thing of all, because it's fairly clear that Rory doesn't think District 4 will ever see Silver Lamprey Cornelius.

But Finnick just passes the flask back to his boss and claps him on the back. "She'll come," he repeats, and turns to head home.

He wonders if he's trying to convince Rory, or himself.

* * *

The little cottage by the shore that Finnick's had his eye on is a pretty thing. Robust and quaint, it's perched on the outskirts of town, near enough to the docks where Finnick can walk there easily. The backyard is the beach, and it's close enough to a few other houses where there's a sense of comradery in the air, but far enough away to lend a firm sense of privacy. It's perfect.

He can easily picture Sil there, in these rooms, flitting around as she redecorates and transforms the quaint cottage into nothing short of a dreamworld. Maybe she'd hang up those pretty little fairy lights that are strewn all over the Cornelius manor. He can imagine the cheerful way they'd glimmer in the falling dusk, welcoming him home from a long day's work. He can imagine her welcoming him home, too, with wide arms and a chaste kiss to his cheek. She'd give a playful laugh when he'd try to kiss her deeper, and pull away with those twinkling green eyes and a trilled, 'gracious!'. He can so easily imagine her in this heaven.

There's even a little room in the back of the house that he intends on turning into a workroom for her. She can set it up and make her jewelry here, or paint or do whatever she feels like doing with all that creativity of hers. Maybe, eventually, she'll open up her own little business and sell her wares. He thinks she'd be a great business owner. She's got the head for it.

He's almost got enough money to purchase the place. Just a couple more paychecks and it's as good as his. And then, when Sil comes, they can move in and start the life they both deserve. He can't wait for that day.

He goes to check out the cottage again later that week, with Annie trailing along beside him. She's humming a pretty little sea shanty that makes him smile as he holds the door open for her.

"What do you think? Dylan told me I could do a few repairs since the place is basically mine," Finnick explains as they enter the cottage.

Annie spins around with a smile and tells him sincerely, "Oh Finnick, it's lovely. Sil will love it."

Finnick grins bashfully and shrugs, "I'm not much of a carpenter, but I think I did an alright job on the roof. It's not leaking anymore."

Besides restoring his boat, he's also been busy refurbishing the cottage. Dylan, the current owner, has practically put aside the place for Finnick, knowing that the Victor will come through the moment he's got enough money. Dylan's known him since Finnick was a boy, and he'd been all too happy to let Finnick do a few repairs to tidy the place up in the meantime.

He's done a bit more than a 'few repairs', to be honest. With the help of a few of his friends at the docks, he was able to replace the counter with new wood and swap out a couple of cabinets that needed fixing. The roof had been leaking in several places, so he had that patched up too. He's got a whole list of other things he wants to do to the place before it's livable, but he'll get there.

Finnick eagerly shows off the rest of the house to her, excited at the prospect of the future. It's strange, to be excited about something like that. Only a year ago, he'd rather thought he'd be stuck in the Capitol's hands for the rest of his life. Funny how suddenly, the freedom of his new world has changed so much for him. He's allowed to choose, for the first time since he was a boy, what he wants to do with his newfound life.

"And look at this – " Finnick says earnestly, throwing open a couple of doors in the upstairs bedroom. Annie steps over with a wide grin, and Finnick pulls her out onto the little balcony that overlooks the ocean. The sea breeze immediately whispers at them sweetly as they stand there.

"She's going to fall in love with this place," Annie tells him with a smile, eyes bright in excitement for him. "It's like a dream here."

Finnick rubs the back of his neck and smiles too, looking back at the house with an eager gleam in his eyes. He hopes Annie is right.

"It's a lot smaller than what's she used to," he admits hesitantly. "Not at all like her manor…"

But Annie just laughs and leans against the balcony railing as she says, "I don't think she'll mind, as long as you're with her." Her words make him look over at her, and Annie smiles and adds, "She loves you, Finn."

He grins at her and chuckles.

A few weeks later, he has enough money saved up from his time in the Capitol and at the docks to buy the cottage, and he throws himself into fixing it up and moving furniture in, so that when Sil comes, she'll be as comfortable as anything.

But as the weeks drone on silently, Finnick makes the final adjustments, and…

She still doesn't come, and he doesn't want to admit it, but he's starting to wonder if she ever will.

* * *

A week later, his entire world shifts just a little to the side. He's in the middle of making dinner. Working at the docks gives him a few additional benefits, the least of which is the fact that he basically eats for free. Rory doesn't even blink at him when Finnick carries a few of the fish he'd caught home with him. It's not out of the ordinary for the dock workers to do.

He smells a bit like the fish he's preparing, but Finnick will take a shower after dinner. He's starving. Today, Rory had him on the docks after his morning sail. He spent hours mopping and painting and doing mundane but important upkeep to the place with a handful of other men. As a result, he's exhausted and ready to jump into bed and sleep for as long as he's able.

The TV is flickering in the distance, overlapping the cottage's living room and kitchen, which are spread out in an open way that combines the two rooms. Finnick hasn't yet found a dining table that will fit the small space he's allotted for one, over by the windows on the other side of the room, so he's been eating on the couch or at the counter until then. He's got the fish plated with a pile of cooked carrots and rice when he takes a seat on the couch and stretches out, sighing as he thinks back on the long, tiresome day he's had. He goes to spear a bit of fish with his fork when Caesar Flickerman's face comes on the screen.

Flickerman might be the only person from Snow's rein that hasn't been killed off or imprisoned. He was supposed to be, if Coin had anything to say on the matter, but when Paylor became the president, she had a different approach. To ensure that the simple aspects of the Capitol doesn't change too much and incite smaller pushback from Capitolites within the city, she allowed Caesar to keep his life and his station in society, with a catch. He would speak about whatever Paylor wants him to speak about, and nothing else.

It had been a terrific idea. The Capitol rejoiced at the fact that their dear anchorman would yet live, and that they would have some sense of familiarity in their wildly changing lifestyles. Paylor would be looked upon as a merciful president who values life, and who can be trusted. The idea immediately shot off with a bang.

In the beginning of Flickerman's new career as the spokesperson of the new Panem, he'd been a little downtrodden and out of sorts, but now…

Well.

"Welcome welcome welcome!" Caesar exclaims as he stands up on stage. The crowd goes wild for him. His popularity is even bigger than it had been before, if that's possible. Finnick watches in amusement as Caesar spreads his arms dramatically and shouts, "We've got a very special guest on tonight! Are you all ready for this interview?"

The crowd is riotous and cheering. Finnick just leans back and waits. He's got no idea who this special guest is. He assumes it's someone important, with some sway in the Capitol, otherwise they wouldn't get onto Caesar's show. Finnick hardly watches TV these days, so he doesn't keep up with the events happening in the Capitol as much as he used to. He's far too busy to sit around and watch a screen all day.

He's extremely shocked, then, when a very familiar face prances out onto the stage with a winking laugh. So shocked that he ends up dropping his plate right into his lap.

"Shit," he curses, shoving the plate onto the coffee table in front of him as Caesar's excited voice exclaims, "Silver! It's marvelous to see you again!"

Caesar is so excited to see the socialite that he bounds forward and gives her a huge hug, which Sil laughingly reciprocates as the crowd gives her a hearty and noisy welcome.

"Caesar, darling, you look positively radiant. Why, I don't think I've ever seen your hair so  _natural!"_  she teases playfully, and eyes his light brown hairstyle with a smirking gaze. Caesar barks out a laugh and gives his hair a dramatic flip, much to the amusement of his audience.

"My dear, this is the new trend in the Capitol these days," he informs her, as if it's necessary to tell  _Silver Lamprey Cornelius_  what is currently trending. She simpers at him and allows him to lead her to the plush armchair that's been set up for her.

As she arranges her dress over the chair, Finnick studies her with shocked eyes.

She looks…good. Whole. Her eyes seem to shine with mischief as she banters with Caesar. Dressed in an elegant red gown with her hair curled up elaborately, she glimmers with jewels that lend her a very high-end flair. And, what's more, her hands are free of her casts as she delicately sets them on her lap and crosses her legs demurely. She looks like she's just stepped out of Gigi's after a long day of shopping.

Finnick is so surprised that he forgets he's hungry, and tired, and sore, and just gapes at her. He didn't know she'd gotten the casts off her hands. Why hadn't she mentioned it?

"Now," Caesar says, leaning back in his chair and crossing his ankle over his knee casually. "You've been quite busy here in the Capitol this past week, haven't you? Tell us a little bit about your new schedule."

Sil delicately lifts a bare shoulder and responds, "Well as you know, our new President asked me to do some segments in Capitol Daily concerning the war efforts. When I was asked, I was shocked, you know? But Caesar – " she leans in and says in a dramatic voice, "I've been so dreadfully bored lately, that I jumped at the chance."

They laugh together. Caesar reaches for her hand and gently pats it, "Many things have changed in our new society, but I don't think it's for the worse!" Whether that's what Caesar really thinks or not, the words appease the crowd.

"I'm sure I speak for the whole Capitol when I say that we are very happy to welcome you back," he tells her, and jokes, "Your impeccable fashion sense has been sorely lacking in our streets!"

Finnick is too caught up in wondering what Sil is talking about, so he barely even notices the playful banter that Sil and Caesar exchange regarding said 'impeccable fashion sense'.

There's been many changes to the way the new government works compared to the old one. New legislation has been passed left and right, freeing up the districts and ensuring that there is far more equality throughout Panem than there had been before. The country is hard at work restoring the railroad tracks and building new modes of transportation to better connect the districts. For the first time in seventy five years, the country is operating as one entity, instead of twelve.

So what job did the new president offer Sil? And why doesn't he know about it? Caesar said that she's been in the Capitol for the last week. Why didn't she tell him?

"Of course, going to all of these interviews is a lot more work than you might think," Sil says, pulling Finnick back into the present. He watches as she waves a hand, "I'm not allowed to say much about it, naturally, but you'll all soon be reading about some of the major war heroes that are working to improve Panem! It's been a little strange, answering questions about being the Sterling Nightingale, but our dear President Paylor thinks that it's a good idea to bring my story to life."

Caesar leans forward and says, "Well, I'll tell you, Silver, that I've already sent in my subscription to Capitol Daily and I couldn't  _put down_  the last article, it was so good."

The audience murmurs in agreement, and Sil shrugs with a laugh, "Thank you, darling. The writers did a wonderful job."

Caesar goes on to ask her more questions about who else they're interviewing, but Finnick just stares at Sil through the TV screen and runs a hand through his hair. He tries to remember the last time they had spoken over the phone. Was it during that storm? That had been almost three weeks ago. Honestly, he's meant to call her a thousand times since then, but he's just been so busy that he hasn't had the time. And it isn't as if she's reached out all that much to him, either. In the beginning, he understood her silence, but now, he doesn't get it at all.

If she looks this good, this healed, then why hasn't she come to District 4 yet? Doesn't she know he's waiting for her? Hadn't he make that clear? Does she…perhaps, not want to live here with him, to share his life, to settle down in this cottage he's bought for them both?

The thought makes it hard to breathe. He puts his elbows on his knees and sighs out.

Why did she accept a job in the Capitol and not tell him about it? That isn't something you just do like it's nothing, even if it is only temporary. It's something. It's a very big something. It means that she's living in the Capitol for the foreseeable future until these interviews are finished, and in the mean time she's building a life for herself – away from him. It means she has no intention of coming to see him. It means she doesn't care.

He looks up and watches her beam at Caesar, lips red with rouge and green eyes shining merrily. She looks like the woman he used to know. The woman who made his head spin because the sight of her smile would make his heart beat like a drum in his chest. The woman he had fallen head over heels for before he even knew her whole story.

He sits back and looks around at the cottage he bought. Suddenly, it looks barren and ugly. The quaint, humble furnishings and the patched roof and the dreary walls reflect a new atmosphere that makes him frown. Would Sil really like it here? Maybe she'd laugh at him for being so presumptuous. She's from one of the wealthiest families in the country. Her estate is so sprawling and lavish that this cottage is a shed by comparison. She would no doubt turn her chin up the moment she sees it and arrogantly wrinkle her nose at the water stains on the ceiling and the boring wooden countertops.

Maybe – his heart thuds – maybe she was right, when she said that he doesn't belong to the desert any more than she belongs to the shore. Maybe they really are from different worlds, and they never belonged to each other after all.

As he watches her tip her head back and laugh, dressed to the nines with expensive rings gathered on her delicate healed hands, he swallows tightly. He comes to a realization. A bitter one.

Sil is not coming.

Maybe she never was.

* * *

Later on, he sits by the phone and starts to dial her number, but he's not sure if she's at her manor or in her apartment in the Capitol, or if she's living somewhere else entirely, and he ends up placing the phone back in its cradle.

He knows it's only an excuse, but he's afraid that he will end up waiting for her for the rest of his life.


	69. And you -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Sil goes out to lunch with an unlikely friend.
> 
> This chapter is from Sil's POV, to update you all on what she's been up to. Next chapter will be Finnick's perspective once more. Hope you all enjoy!

 

**Chapter Sixty Nine | And you -**

" _She was suffering from unconquerable heartache. Deep and achingly she was sorry for herself. Never had she felt so pitiably lonely, so bitterly in want of comfort and of sympathy." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

"I like what you've done with the place," Dorsey says as he throws himself onto Sil's couch. A manila folder is sitting on the coffee table in front of it, carefully organized. He sees a few tabs sticking out of the side that say 'Capitol Daily' and some other tabloid magazines.

Sil raises an eyebrow at him from where she stands at the kitchen counter and sighs. It seems that everyone wants a piece of the Sterling Nightingale these days. The number of interviews she's been asked to sit for has grown to such an extent that she thought it would be wise to move back into her Capitol apartment until it's all over, hence Dorsey's impromptu and uninvited visit. Recently, he's had a tendency to show up at random hours. He claims that it's because he's bored with the renovations he's doing on the consignment shop, but Sil knows better. He's checking up on her, making sure she's doing alright. It's endearing of him to make such an effort, but unnecessary. Sometimes, it's even a little aggravating, especially seeing as she's going out to lunch soon.

In any case, upon moving back into the apartment, Sil had quickly decided to go into some kind of crazy make-over mood, because all the walls have been painted a new color. The furniture has been changed out – the couch now boasting a sand colored leather, the curtains altered to a creamy gauze – and everything looks like new. Dorsey doesn't know exactly what had brought it on, per se, but he's got a few ideas.

Sil is different, these days. It isn't hard to guess why.

"Thank you, darling," she murmurs in reply, and moves to the mirror that's hanging on the wall by the door to check her appearance. Dressed in stylish black trousers and a crisp button-down shirt, Sil looks as elegant as ever. In a way, she looks even better than ever, but Dorsey knows that this is merely a veneer. Sil is good at wearing her masks, and the recent buoyant, happy-go-lucky version of her is precisely that.

Her new living room is lovely. She had it painted a pretty mint green color. There's a picture of the ocean on the wall. Dorsey hasn't brought attention to it yet and Sil doesn't explain why it's there. She doesn't really need to.

He knows she misses him. That's pretty obvious, too. What's not obvious is why she's not doing anything about it, but Dorsey keeps silent on that, also. If this is how Sil wants to navigate her confusing love life, then that's her business.

She walks over to the couch and reaches for the file on the coffee table. It's been a couple of weeks since she had surgery on her hands, but her fingers still shake when she opens the file up and peers at the contents. She's always moving her hands around when she has a bit of spare time, trying to get her muscles to move as they once did. Even now, as she taps her fingers in what appears to be an idle manner on the file's edge, Dorsey knows there's really nothing idle about it.

He knows a lot of things, but he doesn't bring any of it up.

"I've got a full schedule this week," Sil muses as she reads the beginning to the file. She glances up at Dorsey and smiles, "Caesar's following up on the last interview now that Capitol Daily has published a new article. And I hear that they've asked Gale to come in. Wouldn't that be nice?"

Dorsey grunts out his agreement. "Yeah. Last I heard, the kid headed over to District 2 after Katniss epically rejected him."

Sil hums, trying to keep her voice light. Dorsey has always been blunt and occasionally crass. This aspect of his character has never bothered her overmuch, but suddenly she can't help but wonder if she's been epically rejected, too. Is it possible to be rejected but not know it? She can't even remember the last time she'd talked to Finnick…

Dorsey takes one look at her and instantly figures out what she's thinking. Whether it's because he knows her so well by now, or merely that she's not trying hard enough to keep her emotions to herself, she doesn't know. Still, pretending that she hasn't noticed, Sil slants her eyes into his questionably, and he changes the subject.

"Are you ready for your next interview? Caesar's been amping up his audience for days now in preparation for it."

He says the words in a fancy tone that makes her roll her eyes at him. When she had first agreed to work with the media companies about doing a series of articles and video interviews about her time as the Nightingale, she'd expected that they'd want stories – dramatic tales of her covert deeds – but she hadn't realized they'd eat them up so desperately. Plutarch had been right about one thing, at least, which is the fact that she's become more reachable to the general people as a result.

Her schedule is packed with these types of things. Besides the interviews she keeps getting asked to do, companies have also reached out to her about doing photoshoots for magazines and newspapers, having her speak at public events around Panem, and showing her face at important dinners and soirees in the Capitol. To be honest, it isn't much different from what she'd been doing before, only this time, she isn't just Silver Lamprey Cornelius, heir of the vast Cornelius estate and Victor of the 68th Hunger Games. She's also the Sterling Nightingale, and her name carries even more weight. She's currently a star of the Capitol, if not the entirety of Panem.

It's odd, seeing her face on posters and watching videos of her giving speeches at special events around the city. It's not what she had expected to be doing after the war, but things don't always go as planned. She's well aware of that.

Before she can reply to Dorsey's teasing inquiry, the front door suddenly bursts open and in steps Johanna Mason, who says in an annoyed voice, "What the hell, Cornelius? We were supposed to meet for lunch half an hour ago."

Eyes flying to the clock on her wall, Sil stands up quickly and exclaims, "Oh! I must've lost track of time!"

Johanna scoffs, "What, are you suddenly too busy to go out to lunch with the clinically insane girl from District 7?"

Sil opens her mouth to refute the claim, then notices how Johanna's eyes are glinting with amusement, and she huffs, "Gracious, Johanna, there's no need to go around saying things like that. We all know you were insane the moment you were  _born."_

She raises a sarcastic eyebrow and Johanna bursts out laughing. Leave it to Johanna to find such a retort hilarious.

"Well luckily, insanity is trending in the Capitol right now, so I fit right in," she responds with a drawling smirk, and Sil laughs.

This is another thing she hadn't expected. Johanna's always hated her – or at least the foppish, silly version of her from before – but after they had run into each other several weeks before at the hospital, Sil decided to reach out to her.

To be honest, she hadn't anticipated that her invitation to meet would be taken amicably. Johanna is fierce and aggressive, to an extent that doesn't match Sil's demeanor very well. At least, one might think. To her surprise, though, Johanna had accepted the invitation (in a seemingly begrudging manner), and it had become something of a routine. Every time Johanna comes to the Capitol for one of her therapy sessions, they grab a bite to eat and catch up.

Johanna likes to make fun of her therapist and Sil likes to laugh at her somewhat angry remarks about the poor man. They have surprisingly lighthearted banter about it. It's strange, but oddly refreshing. Sil is glad to have at least one friend that understands the trials of being a Victor, and Johanna…well, Sil isn't really sure what Johanna gets from the newfound friendship, but she hasn't stopped agreeing to meet her for lunch, so there's that.

"That's my cue to leave, Dorsey. I'm sure I'll see you soon," Sil says (a bit dryly, since he's gotten into the habit of dropping in on her) as she reaches for her purse. It's a Gigi's classical edition, white leather with bronze clasps. The older man just grunts and eyes Johanna on his way out, like he's waiting for her to maim him or something. It's rather amusing.

Together, they two Victors leave the building. There's a little café that has a decent lunch menu down the block. It's their usual hangout. The owner doesn't seem to mind Johanna's loud and aggravating remarks, so they haven't bothered looking for another place.

"How was your session?" Sil asks as they slide into a booth. Johanna rolls her eyes.

"Honestly, I don't even know why I'm going to these dumb things," she mutters in response, and grabs the menu angrily.

Sil raises an eyebrow at her and says in a bemused voice, "I don't know why either. It's a little out of character."

The looks she gets in return makes Sil snicker.

"I'm just bored, that's all," the older Victor groans, threading her fingers through her now chin length hair. "I love District 7 and all, but it just feels so…" she trails off, apparently not finding an adequate word. She doesn't really need to, though. Sil understands.

It's funny. For the first time since meeting her, Sil actually understands Johanna Mason.

But she does, because she feels the same thing whenever she boards the train and returns to her manor in District 1. The beautiful estate has always been her world. She loves it there. It's a pure reflection of who she is and she can be herself within the walls of her childhood palace. But that's just it – it's a childhood dream, and the person she is now just doesn't seem to fit into that world any longer.

That's predominantly why she'd agreed to Plutarch's offer. At least here in the Capitol, she can pretend that she isn't broken and ruined. At least she doesn't get flashbacks of gruesome memories here. At least she has so much work to do now that she doesn't even have time to think about the recent events in her past.

It's more than most can hope for, Johanna included.

"Well, how's the railroad coming?" Sil inquires, glancing up at her from over the menu. She doesn't know why she's reading it anyway – she's already memorized the contents.

As she aggressively waves down a waiter, Johanna grumbles, "Slow. We need funding from the Capitol. Problem is, so do the rest of the districts."

The waiter stumbles over, looking a little pale. No doubt from Johanna's presence. Sil vaguely remembers the Victor yelling at him during one of their previous trips. He's probably still scarred. He places water glasses down on the table's surface with an air of immense discomfort. Sil half expects them to tip over because of his shaking.

"Give me some of your clam chowder," Johanna demands, and shoves her menu at him.

Sil bites back a smirk and politely turns to the poor boy to simper, "I'll have the same, darling. Thank you."

As the waiter nods and quickly turns on his heel to escape, Sil raises an eyebrow at Johanna, who just snickers. It's become a bit of a habit for her, antagonizing unsuspecting Capitolites. Not that she didn't do it plenty before, but it seems that since there are no immediate and deadly repercussions to her actions, she's taken it a step further.

Then, frowning in confusion, Sil suddenly wonders, "When did this place start selling clam chowder, anyway?"

Johanna stares at her for a long minute. The longer she does, the more Sil feels like she's missing something extremely important. But the confusion lingers in her eyes, until Johanna snorts and drawls, "District 4's been churning out so much fish lately, the Capitol doesn't know what to do with it all."

She's so surprised at this turn in the conversation that Sil splutters a little into her water glass. Her reaction has Johanna rolling her eyes at her. "Didn't Finnick mention that the economy's been doing really great over there? Figured he would've, seeing how he's working at the docks and all."

She pauses for a few seconds too long, and Johanna crosses her arms.

"What the hell is going on between you two, anyway?" she says in a discriminatory voice, as if she doesn't trust Sil to give a proper answer.

For her part, Sil just opens her mouth, doesn't know what to say, and shuts it again awkwardly. She looks away and shrugs pathetically. Johanna scoffs.

"Seriously? If you ask me, you're the insane one, not me," she mutters. "Finnick's gonna get snatched up by someone else if you keep doing this. You know he's waiting for you, don't you?"

Sil just leans back as if she's trying to make herself look smaller and doesn't answer. This happens a lot whenever someone asks her about Finnick. Honestly, she'd rather not talk about it because she doesn't know what to say. She doesn't really know what's going on between them, only that she doesn't like it. But she also doesn't know how to fix the rift between them. It's all her fault that it started, really, but she can't help but feel that a little bit of it is his, too.

It seems that every time she gets around to calling him these days, he's so busy that he can't be bothered to stay on the phone for more than a few minutes. And he rarely calls her back to continue the conversation at a later time, even though he's constantly saying that he will. Can she really be blamed for assuming that he's no longer interested in updating her on his life, when he doesn't seem to be willing to invite her into it?

And – she can't help but think, when she's feeling very low about it, that perhaps he's  _already_  moved on. When they do get to talk, Annie comes into the conversation more than anything else. It's disheartening and confusing, and it makes her heart hurt.

Her silence turns awkward, so Johanna gruffly mutters, "Don't know why I bother. It's not like I've known Finnick for way longer than you." The sarcasm in her voice is palpable.

"That's not fair," Sil defends, but it's halfhearted and flimsy.

With a sigh, Johanna tells her, "Look, all I'm saying is that I've never seen Finnick care about someone as much as he cares about you. But – if you keep doing whatever it is that you're doing here in the Capitol and you don't let him be a part of it, he's eventually going to find someone who will."

She glances up at the older Victor and asks in belated surprise, "How do you know I don't let him be a part of it?"

The question makes Johanna raise an eyebrow skeptically and respond, "Because he told me just the other day that you've been pulling away from him. We had a long chat about it."

The information makes Sil gape. In a stilted voice, she demands, "A chat? How long is a chat? Fifteen minutes? An hour?"

Johanna looks at her like she's got two heads. Sil supposes that it is a rather strange inquiry, but she finds that she desperately wants to know the answer.

"…I don't know. Half an hour maybe? I was telling him about what's happening in District 7. That took a while." She shrugs, and doesn't seem to understand why Sil apparently finds this news baffling.

"What?" Johanna asks, still looking at her weirdly. Sil is saved from immediately responding when the frightened waiter returns with their clam chowder. He puts them on the table, lingers there for half a second in case they want anything else, and scurries away eagerly when they don't have any immediate requests. Johanna smirks at his exit, but turns back to Sil with a demanding look in her eye. She's clearly not going to let this go.

Sil purses her lips and reaches for her spoon. She dips it into the soup, but suddenly the seafood dish doesn't look very appealing to her.

"Well?" Johanna prompts, looking entirely unimpressed both by Sil's continued silence as well as the glower she sends her way.

Sil huffs and finally says in an exasperated voice, "It's just – whenever I call Finnick, he's always so busy that he can never talk for more than a few minutes! Why did he chat with you for half an hour when he can't even give me ten minutes of his day?!"

There's a whining tone to her question that makes her feel a bit childish, and she cringes at the words that leave her mouth. It's like a floodgate opens. When she peers back up at Johanna dourly, the other Victor's unimpressed expression has morphed into a sardonically raised brow.

Sil at once wishes she hadn't spoken at all, especially when Johanna patronizingly drawls, "Maybe because he thinks you don't want a future with him? Just a guess, of course, but you haven't exactly gone to see him in the last four months, despite him waiting for you to."

Her answer is swift and solid. It makes Sil cringe again.

Eyebrow raising even further, Johanna asks, "Seriously, what the hell, Cornelius? I thought you loved that dumbass."

Thoughts and excuses fly through Sil's head at the question. She thinks it's awfully unfair of Johanna to ask, but she knows that's just her perturbed fear talking. Dropping her spoon into the soup in annoyance, Sil mutters, "So now it's my fault? He's been so busy he can't even spare me a second. Why do you think I haven't gone to see him?  _He's_  the one pushing  _me_  away."

The adamancy of her words seems to surprise Johanna, who stares at her from across the table like she thinks Sil really is the insane one. After a moment of this, Sil mumbles, "What? All he talks about is  _Annie_. That is, if he even deems me worthy enough to speak to for more than two minutes at a time." She glowers at her soup like it's the source of her disappointment, and Johanna groans at her idiocy.

"God you're so stupid," she says, staring at the ceiling as if she's praying for patience. Sil glares at her.

Johanna Mason is never patient, though, and she isn't now either when she replies, "Annie's his  _best friend,_  you idiot. There's nothing going on between them. He wants  _you."_  Then, in an annoyed voice, she adds, "You should be the one going to my therapy sessions, not me."

Sil opens her mouth to throw a retort her way, but Johanna cuts in and snipes, "He's working his ass off because he wants to be able to support you. He bought a fucking  _house_  for you."

The words certainly throw Sil for a loop. She gapes at Johanna with wide eyes, floundering in her seat as she tries and fails to come up with an adequate response. She doesn't have one.

The cottage – she remembers Johanna mentioning it weeks before, but when she'd asked Finnick about it, he said something about Annie and hung up to go deal with that storm. It had thrown her off to such an extent that she hadn't asked him about it again, because frankly, she was afraid of the answer.

Johanna eyes her and mutters, "Honestly, you're probably the most ungrateful person in Panem. You've got the most attractive, sought after man in the country bending over backwards for you and you don't even care."

Sil frowns, but she's not angry. Johanna's right and she knows it. She is ungrateful. She's selfish. But the other Victor is wrong about one thing: she does care. She cares very much. Only, she doesn't know what to do about it.

Johanna sighs and glances at the clock. With a start, she says, "My train leaves the station in thirty minutes. I should go before I miss it." She gets up, and shoves her untouched bowl of chowder at Sil. "Since I was so busy telling you how much of an idiot you are that I didn't get to eat, you're paying."

Sil gives her a reluctant smile and huffs, "I was going to offer anyway…"

Johanna grunts. As she shoves her pockets into her trousers, she lingers there by the table for a moment, studying Sil with a hard eye. Sil knows Johanna well enough by now to realize that a verdict is coming, and she sits very still while the District 7 Victor thoughtfully looks at her.

After a moment, Johanna says, "Did you get Katniss and Peeta's wedding invite?"

The question isn't one Sil expects. She raises an eyebrow and nods. The invitation had been a surprise. She received it earlier that week. It had been sent to her manor in District 1, but her father had it forwarded to her apartment. She'd been so shocked when she opened it and saw the handwritten note inviting her to District 12 to the wedding of the star-crossed lovers. It hasn't even been that long since the war ended, after all.

The wedding isn't for another two months, but still, it seems rather fast. Sil can't judge though – she never would, in this instance. She's happy for Katniss and Peeta. They deserve all the happiness life can give, after what they've been through.

At her affirmation, Johanna grunts, "Well you'd better be there. I need a drinking partner, and I'd rather it not be Haymitch. At least I can somewhat stand being in your presence these days."

Sil laughs at her and smirks. "I intend on being there, Johanna darling. I told Katniss I'd make the wedding bands for her and Peeta as a gift."

Johanna raises an eyebrow at this, and at Sil's pet name that she no doubt added to annoy the other Victor, but just says, "Well good. Let's meet for lunch next time I'm here."

She turns to leave, but then at the last moment, turns back around and slyly adds, "Finnick will be there, too. Just to let you know." And with a wide smirk, Johanna pushes the door open and makes her exit, leaving Sil sitting there with a wide-eyed expression.

Gracious, but it's a little scary being on the receiving end of Johanna Mason's matchmaking.

* * *

Later that night, Sil spends fifteen minutes staring at her phone and working up the courage to dial Finnick's number. Her conversation with Johanna sparks something inside her. She wants to hear his voice more than she can say.

But when she finally does, it just rings and rings and rings, and as the ringing stops and Sil hears the repetitive, telltale beeping sound of the line going dead, she hangs her head and whispers, "I miss you…" into the phone.

But the message just gets swept up in missed communication, and Finnick never hears the pleading words.

He doesn't hear anything from her at all, for many days to come.


	70. You are as undiminished

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Finnick continues.

 

**C** **hapter Seventy | You are as undiminished**

" _But pride had the better of it in this struggle once again; he restrained himself with a tremendous effort of will." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

He sees her everywhere. It's impossible to miss her face when it's beaming at him from an ad on a webpage or the screen of the television. Every time he sees her, his heart falters in surprise, as if he doesn't expect her to be there. He thinks, sarcastically, that it's because he's been waiting so long for her that seeing her now, so many times, is like a shockwave that never ends.

When he receives Katniss and Peeta's wedding invitation, he ends up sitting on the steps of his porch and staring at the carefully written words for nearly an hour. He remembers the embossed, pretty cursive wedding invitation for him and Sil that he had gotten, once, back in the times  _before_. He remembers his heart faltering in a similar way when he'd read their name on that letter.

It's funny, in hindsight, being invited to your own wedding. At the time it had been an agony in its own right, because he just couldn't fathom being a husband or anyone so important when the Capitol was breathing down his neck. Funny, too, how things change so profoundly when one mere variable is removed.

* * *

Annie's sick. She doesn't know what it is, but for days she's been vomiting at the least opportune times. She says she feels otherwise fine, but Finnick is worried. She's the only other person in District 4 who understands the horrors he's been through, at least where they concern the Games themselves. Luckily, Annie had been saved from experiencing the unique brand of horrors that Finnick had underwent at Snow's hands.

He checks up on her every day, sometimes more. The thought of him losing his best friend and the only person who understands him innately makes his head spin. Despite the joy he feels at having total autonomy of his life, he's already lost too much to lose her, too.

Annie constantly tells him to stop worrying. He knows it isn't necessary. She's been seeing someone – one of the merchants who runs a stall in the marketplace and sells tackle and fishing gear. His name is Will. He's a nice guy. He's been bringing Annie soup to make her feel better, and she's been singing his praises to Finnick whenever he visits.

"I'm glad you're happy," he tells her one day. It's a bright and cheerful Saturday and he doesn't have work, so he had decided to visit her on his way into town. He's got a list of supplies he needs to purchase for the cottage, and he wants to see if one of the local carpenters can craft a dining room table for him. He hasn't had much luck finding one elsewhere.

Annie beams at him as she sits on the couch. She looks great. Almost like she's glowing. Finnick's never seen her so happy.

"Will and I are going out for dinner tonight," she tells him with that silly grin she wears whenever she talks about the man. Finnick chuckles at the sight of it and nudges her arm with his elbow playfully. She ducks her head bashfully but doesn't lose the grin.

"Where to?" he wonders idly. District 4 has never been a poor district, though they've had their fair share of troubles over the years. They rely almost entirely on the annual fishing quotas to fund the town, and some years are worse than others. Since the Capitol's strict trading regulations have been removed from the equation, trade has opened up to all the districts, and the economy has been booming as a result. There are even a couple of new restaurants opening up on the far end of town as a testament to the success.

Annie responds, "I'm not sure. Probably The Cove."

He hums in return, and haltingly murmurs, "Yeah, that's a nice little place. Very romantic." The smile he gives her is tight.

He had taken Sil there, when she had come to District 4 during their overpopularized getaway in the initial weeks of their fake relationship. She had playfully bemoaned the fact that the intimate little restaurant only offered seafood dishes and little else, and had started launching off into vivid descriptions of the sort of restaurants her and her father often went out to back in District 1. Swanky places, where one dressed up in fancy suits and dresses, and ate seven course meals and drank wine out of crystal glasses. It is much more lavish than any of the places in District 4.

He rubs the back of his neck, aggravated at himself for thinking of her so often. He wonders if it will get easier, the more the time passes.

Annie studies him carefully, apparently picking up on the subtle difference in the atmosphere around him. It doesn't take a genius to know who he's thinking about. He gets a very sad look in his usually bright eyes whenever his thoughts verge towards Sil. It's impossible not to notice.

She puts her hand on his arm and softly says, "She'll come, Finnick. I know she will."

His smile turns bitter. In a sarcastic voice, he mutters, "It's been almost five months. She's…she's not coming, Annie." He laughs and adds, "I'm such an idiot. I've been working so hard to be able to give her a good life and – Annie, I bought a house for us. Who  _does_  that?"

She gives him a sad smile. In a quiet voice, she murmurs, "You love her," and shrugs, as if that's the only answer there is. He supposes she isn't wrong. Love makes people do things that they would never do otherwise. Love is crazy. Unpredictable.

With a scoff, he responds, "Yeah, and it's done a lot of good for me, loving someone who clearly doesn't feel the same."

His words, though he believes them in this moment, make Annie turn to his with wide eyes and exclaim, "No! That's not true. Don't say something like that, Finn."

Finnick isn't in the mood for skirting around the subject though. He just glances at her and seriously says, "She's the Sterling Nightingale, Annie. She knows how to wear a mask better than anyone in Panem. If she actually wanted to be with me, she'd have come months ago."

If she actually wanted to be with him, she would have called him and let him know that she took that job in the Capitol. She wouldn't make him wait so long to see her again. She wouldn't make him wonder at his own heart. He doesn't say any of those things, but Annie seems to understand. She looks down at her hands with a heavy sigh.

"I don't believe that," she mumbles in a rather lost manner. "I think she'll come, when she's ready to. She's been through a lot, Finnick."

The excuse might've worked a couple of months ago, but he's no longer willing to give it credit anymore. With a scornful chuckle, he mutters, "Yeah, well, we've all been through a lot, haven't we?"

An unsettling silence falls down upon them, thick and absolute as they each get lost in their own thoughts. When it starts to get slightly awkward, Finnick sighs and stands up, glancing down at Annie with a soft smile. His face is clear of the bitterness it had contained only seconds before. He knows how to wear a mask, too, Annie thinks.

Maybe that's their problem. Maybe they're just so used to pretending to be someone they're not, that they've forgotten to be who they actually are.

"I should go before they close up the shops for the day," Finnick says. His expression lighter, but his eyes are still stormy with something that looks almost like sorrow. Annie doesn't mention it though. She just nods, and Finnick smiles, "Have fun tonight, okay? Tell Will I said hi."

She smiles back. As she watches him leave, though, Annie frowns and heaves a sad sigh. It isn't fair. She's so happy with her life, now that the fear of the Games is finished. She still gets the nightmares, but she can handle those. She can handle them because every other aspect of her life is so beautiful.

But Finnick…

She's afraid that he may never be truly happy. And out of everyone in Panem, Annie thinks that he deserves happiness the most.

* * *

The other dock workers stop asking him about Sil, and he stops bringing her up. She becomes an almost taboo subject, like shards of glass lying on the floor that he steps over warily, afraid of being cut by their sharp edges. He thinks it's a little late for that, to be honest, but at least the other sailors don't question it.

No, but Cordella does. She's got a loud mouth and a tough heart, and she isn't afraid of talking about things that other people shy away from.

Finnick is tying up his boat for the day. The sun is beginning to sink below the horizon, casting elegant shadows over the water. He's about finished when the door of the tackle shop swings open and Della steps out, looking around for her husband, no doubt. When she sees Finnick, she gives him a shrill whistle and a toothy grin. Her lips pull back into a lightly wrinkled smile, and he chuckles because he knows what's coming.

"Someone get me a bucket of ice, I'm burning up just at the sight you make, pretty boy!" she jeers, and laughs at the way Finnick immediately straightens up and poses dramatically. He's shirtless. It isn't a rare sight, per se, but Della likes to poke fun at him every time she gets an eyeful.

"Stop before you give me a heart attack," she jokes, walking over to him and getting to work helping him tie the boat up. As she expertly twists the ropes around the dock post, she says almost in passing, "Honestly, that girl of yours must be insane. You must be the best looking man in the whole fucking country."

He's not surprised at the words, necessarily. Della says things like that often enough where he's gotten used to hearing them.

He laughs, but it's a little forced. As he tightens the knot he's made, Finnick points out, "You've never been outside of District 4, Della."

The face she makes him has him laughing again, more sincerely this time.

"True as that is, I stand by my words," she nods, as if that's the end of it. But knowing her, it isn't. He's right. After a couple of minutes that they spend making sure the boat is secure and won't drift away, she adds, "You could get any girl you want, Odair. Just flash that pretty smile at them and you'll have a whole crowd of swooning gals to choose from. Maybe you should think about that."

She says it to make him feel better, he knows. He gives her a smile to make her think that it helps, but…

It doesn't.

* * *

Later that week, he finally has some time to paint the upstairs bedroom. The cottage hasn't been lived in for a number of years, and the paint that had previously been applied needs redoing. The damp sea air doesn't help preserve these smaller details of the houses here in District 4. It's past time to do something about it.

He's thought about color options a bit. Something light and airy had been his first choice. Sil likes pastel colors, doesn't she? He was thinking of doing a robin's egg blue, like the color of her office back in her apartment – the one he had stumbled upon when Snow had forced him to move in with her.

He goes into the market that day to buy a can and a few paintbrushes. There aren't a whole lot of colors to choose from, but he does find the perfect shade of blue that he'd been originally thinking of. As he holds the can up, though, a wave of bitterness swells up inside his chest and he puts the can down quickly, as if it's poisoned.

Why should he choose a color that Sil would like, anyway? It isn't as if she's ever going to see the inside of the cottage, let alone his bedroom. Maybe, once upon a time, that had been a possibility, but…he doesn't think it is anymore. Instead, he buys a can of bright green paint. It's obnoxious and loud. Sil would hate it.

He takes great pleasure as he applies it to his walls with wide sweeps of his brush. Call it his own personal bite of revenge – not that she will ever know. He figures it doesn't matter much whether she does or not. Nothing matters much these days.

Later on, when he's lying in bed, staring at the bright green walls that surround him on all sides, he imagines the way Sil would give a horrified gasp at the hideous color, and wave her hands at it as if she's trying to magically erase it from the walls. She'd say something along the lines of 'Gracious, Finnick darling. You must be colorblind!'. She'd immediately demand that he change it to something of her liking.

All the more reason to leave it alone.

* * *

A week later, his dining room table is finished. He arranges it by the window and is happy with the way it fits right into the space. It's perfect. He takes a step back and admires it a moment, thinking that it's a little amusing how he's become such a homebody in the last few months. After spending years in the Capitol, this lifestyle is a far cry different from what he's used to. The upscale furniture and high society flair is absent here in this cottage. He doesn't miss it at all.

He thinks these small comforts are extremely underrated. There's something about reaching into his cabinet and pulling out a mug that  _he_  had bought with  _his own_  money that greatly appeals to him. There are a few things that he's moved from his Victor's house. The bed, for one. His dresser and the TV cabinet too. But most of the things he's put in this cottage are things that he bought himself. Things that he earned.

There's just something about it. Something about knowing that he's done it himself, without the Capitol's influence. Without its money or its connections. He's had years stolen from him that he will never get back. Years spent in forced servitude in hotel rooms. The apartment he had back in the Capitol, and the Victor's house here in District 4, were things given to him by the very society he loathed so much. It's so invigorating, being able to provide himself with his own things for once.

He nods at the new table and goes into the kitchen to see what he's got for dinner. Since starting his job at the docks, his fridge is never absent of some type of fish. He takes out some flounder and starts preparing it, expertly deboning the fish before tossing it onto a pan to cook. As he's wiping his hands, the phone rings.

"Hello?" he asks into it, cradling the plastic between his shoulder and his head as he hovers over the pan.

The line crackles a bit, before Johanna's brusque voice says, "Finnick? You there?"

As he turns the burner on a higher setting and goes to hunt down some salt and pepper, he responds, "Yeah. How's it going over in District 7?"

The scoff he hears makes him chuckle. Johanna mutters, "Good, I guess. Can't complain."

They talk for a while about what's new. Finnick tells her about the latest additions he's added to the cottage, and Johanna reports that the mayor in District 7 is building a new lumber yard to meet the material demand sweeping across the country. The outer districts, especially 12, need a lot of wood to rebuild. Johanna says the quality of life is getting a lot better in her district as a result.

That's the general consensus, it seems. With the newfound freedom experienced in all the districts, and the absence of the Capitol's stringent regulations on what they can and can't trade, Panem's entire economy is improving.

After a couple of minutes, Johanna says, "Hey. You said you're going to Katniss and Peeta's wedding, right? It's in a month."

The question makes Finnick smirk. In a suave voice he innocently wonders, "And miss the chance to turn Katniss into a blushing bride? As if! You're still going, right?"

Johanna snickers at him. "Yeah. I can't believe I'm saying it, but I'm actually looking forward to seeing her."

Finnick laughs. "Don't tell her that, you might scare her away." She snorts at this but doesn't seem to disagree.

"Sil's gonna be there, you know," Johanna says after a brief moment. There's a tone in her voice that Finnick can't pinpoint. He frowns and busies himself with flipping the fish over in the pan.

His silence makes Johanna scoff, "You're both the same. Fucking stubborn dumbasses. Would you please do us all a favor and go serenade her already? Put me out of my misery."

Finnick stiffens, grasping the phone tightly as he quips, "I'd rather not listen to your love advice, Jo. It's kind of scary.'

At this, she barks out a laugh, sounding extremely amused. Finnick thinks that he's succeeded in steering the conversation away from that topic, until Johanna says, "Yeah? Well tough. When you see her at the wedding, you'd better get on your knees and make sure she knows you still want her, because she's a fucking idiot."

His frown deepens. In a hesitant voice, he mutters, "Tell me something I  _don't_  know."

He means it as a rhetorical question, but Johanna's a wise ass. She snorts and tells him, "Something you  _don't_  know? How about the fact that you're an idiot too?"

Finnick chuckles and drawls, "At least I'm a good-looking idiot."

She laughs.

They say their goodbyes shortly after that, and Finnick moves over to his new dining table and takes a seat. The sky is dark blue now, crested with the last lingering tones of light. As they gradually fade away, Finnick idles there, thinking back on his conversation with Johanna. He holds back a sigh and forces himself to eat, but his eyes keep darting to the empty chair across from him.

Suddenly he wishes he never bought this table. It only makes him feel lonelier than ever.

* * *

He never names his boat. Maybe it's because a part of him, however small, still hopes that one day she will pluck out a fanciful name for him and paint it on the helm with her artful hands.

It's a pretty dream, if nothing else.


	71. As the stars that guide me home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Sil takes District 12 by surprise to help plan the star-crossed wedding.
> 
> I did enjoy writing this chapter, mainly because Effie! It didn't occur to me during the actual writing process how similar Effie and Sil are. I hope you all enjoy this update and I'll see everyone on Friday!

 

**Chapter Seventy One | As the stars that guide me home**

" _For this much was certain: that there was no longer any happiness possible for her without that one man's love." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

Returning to District 1 after spending several weeks in the Capitol is a relief to Sil, in the beginning. She's excited to be back at the Cornelius estate, where her father and mother are waiting. She's eager for Hale's superb cooking and the staff's playful banter and the hot desert sun against her skin. As she steps onto the train station platform and gets hit with the familiar embrace of the desert air, though, her heart falters. It keeps faltering as she drives through the city streets she knows by heart. It falters all the way to the Cornelius manor, and only gets worse when she steps inside.

It's strange. She's always loved District 1, in much the same way that one holds a certain prejudice towards their childhood home. The desert calls to her in a way that nothing else does. She basks in the harsh sunlight, blossoming like a cactus flower in the rough, arid landscape. But for some reason, she feels out of sorts, even as her father welcomes her home and starts telling her about the new improvements being made to the district. For some reason, the desert sun seems too bright, and the air is too dry, and the rugged landscape is too flat. She doesn't know why she feels this way when she's always felt so at home here, but she does.

Plutarch practically forced her to take a small vacation. She's got two weeks off, and then she's heading off to District 12 to attend Katniss and Peeta's wedding ceremony. Peeta had asked her if she'd be interested in helping Effie make some arrangements, so she's arriving a few days before the rest of the guests. She's eager to transform their district into something grand enough for the star-crossed wedding. She's already got plenty of ideas, and a budget to match.

After that, she'll be going back to the Capitol, for a time. She's happy for that, too, or so she tells herself. It's been a bit boring lately, to be honest. She hasn't seen Johanna for a few weeks because of mismatched schedules, and she's been feeling a little lonely in that great big city. That's why she'd been so eager to return home for a short break, but for some reason, she doesn't get much of a reprieve.

Maybe it's because too many memories haunt these walls. Whenever she gets into her bed, she thinks of Finnick and the way he made love to her all those months ago. Whenever she passes the pool, she sees him in the water, playfully smirking at her as he tries to lure her to the edge. When she has dinner out on the veranda with her father, she thinks of the way he had balked at the artful dishes Hale and the kitchen staff had made. When she lingers in the aviary, she thinks of the way he had kissed her.

Finnick is everywhere, and nowhere, at the same time.

Gemma notices his daughter's absent mind, but he does his best to lift her spirits. He mentions something about wanting to get his favorite armchair reupholstered and she jumps at the chance. She spends a whole day at one of the many fabric shops in District 1's massive shopping center, and by the time she returns home later that evening, she's got an entire bag of samples for him to choose from. He laughingly tells her to do whatever she thinks is best, and she huffs at him. She ends up choosing a fabric with reds and greens and blues woven into it, and gets to work immediately.

The reupholstering project seems to spark something inside her, because after she's finished, she goes on another one of her redecorating purges. Soon, the whole downstairs is touched up with new baubles and drapes and color schemes. She flits through each room as if she's on a mission to change her entire world, rearranging the furniture and creating a new atmosphere in each space, but Gemma notices that she doesn't go near Finnick's room at all. It remains perfectly untouched. He decides not to draw attention to his realization, though.

About a week in, she turns her attention to Katniss and Peeta's wedding, charging through plans and ideas as if her very life depends upon it. Gemma humors her. Though he won't be attending this famous wedding, he knows that Sil will do a wonderful job with the decorating. She has a knack for it.

She spends time in the workroom, too, practicing her craft. In many ways, she's had to relearn much of what she already knew, before her hands were broken. Her fingers don't move the same way they used to, and they still shake when she's not paying attention. She's taken to clutching them together in front of her to halt their errant movements as much as possible, but sometimes she forgets.

She hammers out jewelry at odd hours of the day, switching between her hobbies as if she doesn't know what she'd rather be doing. Gemma finds her behavior a bit erratic, but he knows the reason for it. Sil is restless. He sees it in her with every passing second. She doesn't know what to do with herself anymore.

She's lost in her own home.

* * *

She wakes up in the middle of the night to nightmares. They're quick to come, these days. She sees Felix hovering over her, bearing down on her, clenching his fingers around her neck. Whenever she dreams of him, she wakes up in a cold sweat, twisted in her sheets. Tonight, she nearly falls right out of bed as she struggles to pull herself free in a moment of hysteric fear.

She lingers there in her big bed for a long minute. The clock ticks at her loudly, as if in judgement. After a few minutes of listening to its incessant beat, she gets up and throws her robe over her figure.

It's well past midnight. The house is silent, cast in an almost deathly quiet that seems to seep through the walls. Sil ghosts through the empty halls like she's a part of them, slipping through the house. She knows she won't be able to go back to sleep. She's got bruised shadows beneath her eyes from all the times she's woken up from another nightmare and couldn't return to the embrace of unconsciousness, though no one seems to realize it. Her make-up does wonders hiding the evidence of her sleepless nights.

She heads down to the workroom and immediately throws another log on the fire, urging it to catch. Once she's got a hot enough flame, Sil turns on her work desk lamp and sits down, dragging her latest project towards her with a discerning eye.

Two matching golden rings twinkle up at her. They are for Katniss and Peeta. It's her wedding gift to them.

Even with her shaking fingers, they are artfully crafted. Spirals of gold intertwine around each other, studded with tiny little jewels. They look like branches dappled with colorful leaves of all shades. Miniscule rubies, sapphires, and emeralds sparkle just so in the light, no matter which way the ring is twisted. Sil is rather fond of the design.

She hasn't finished applying all of the jewels. It's taken her several lengthy weeks to even get this far. With her hands as they are, she does not have the same finesse as before. Getting all the jewels to sit properly in their tiny indentations is far more challenging that it seems, when her fingers constantly shake.

She gets to work, tugging her box of jewels and gemstones towards her. As she opens the lid and peers into the organized box, she sighs. Finnick is here, too, in this room. She remembers his surprise at learning that these stones have meaning here in District 1. She remembers him quizzing her on them, as if hoping to trip her up. The memory should make her laugh, but instead it just brings on a wave of sorrow that she can't seem to escape.

She spends hours in the workroom, carefully setting more jewels into the rings. It takes far longer than it normally would. The flexibility in her fingers has improved since her surgery weeks before, with the rigorous physical therapy she's thrown herself into, but she doubts that she'll ever have the same adept movements as before. It's a thought she doesn't like to consider, though she knows it's practical.

As the sun begins to rise, Sil gets up. She's sore from sitting there, and thirsty. She heads off to the kitchens to make herself a cup of the fruity tea she currently favors, and takes it out to the veranda to watch the sunrise.

After a few moments of sitting idly on one of the benches, Sil gets up, leaves her tea on the side table, and walks to the stairs. She descends into the sand, which is yet cool beneath her bare feet. In a few hours, it will be hot to the touch, but for now she basks in the gentle ambiance of early morning. With the city behind her and the desert ahead, Sil sighs out and watches the sun slowly burst above the far horizon.

It's beautiful, truly. There's nothing like seeing the first traces of sunlight flair out over the endless sand. A certain softness is captured in the imprint of it, which will soon disappear as the sun climbs and brightens unforgivably.

She used to come outside and watch the sunrise a lot, after winning her games. It feels like a century ago. How much she has changed since then! Even the poignant restlessness of her nightmares has altered. Back then, in those early mornings long past, the rising desert sun had purged her of her darkness and had given her hope. But now…

She feels almost lost in its embrace, as if she no longer belongs here in this world, among this city. She suddenly feels like a stranger, and the endless stretch of land that extends far into the distance is a vast cacophony of regrets. It feels like the expanse of the desert is a reflection of what the rest of her life will be like. Dry, arid, and empty.

And the sun that rises up and sheds its peaceful rays upon her, and the familiar roiling streets in the distance, and the opulent furnishings and the beautiful world that is all hers – she suddenly hates it all.

She yearns for something else. Something, she fears, she will never have.

* * *

Sil has only been to District 12 once, and that was for her Victory Tour. She hadn't been very impressed back then. The whole place had been in disrepair save for the official buildings, and poverty had been widespread and apparent even from her carefully cloistered view from the Justice building window. At that time of her life, she couldn't even fathom anyone living in such a place. Having grown up in her wealthy estate, in the richest district outside the Capitol, the mere idea of poverty had been impossible for her to grasp. She'd been horrified.

The place has changed a lot since then. It had basically been eradicated during the war, after the Capitol had dropped a bomb on it. In the months since, workers from all over Panem have been rebuilding the district. The rubble has been cleared away and new buildings have been put up. There's still a lot of work to be done, but much of the infrastructure has been reconstructed in the center of town. With so many workers coming from all over Panem, eager for jobs, and with the open trade routes and materials available, the district has changed drastically in a very short amount of time. Sil is naturally shocked when she steps off the train. It looks nothing like she remembers.

"Silver! There you are!" Effie Trinket calls. At the sound of her name, Sil turns to see the Capitolite-turned-revolutionary approach. Despite Effie's brief stunt as a rebel, she has gone straight back to her Capitol fashion the first moment she could. Sil grins at her, eyeing her four inch stilettos with an expert eye.

"Are you wearing Linault St. Clair?" she asks with a dramatic gasp, and Effie trills out a laugh and goes to hug her. Sil's never gotten the chance to get to know Effie very well, but the woman embraces her as if the two of them have been best friends their whole lives.

"My dear," Effie says in a tone rife with theatrical relief, "you have  _no_  idea how glad I am to have someone with a discernable eye around here!" Sil smirks, chuckling a bit as Effie looks her over. "You look wonderful. I'm so glad you're here to help. There's not much we can do to make this place into a proper wedding venue."

Sil tilts her head thoughtfully as she studies the district before her. She shrugs and, with a mischievous wink, says, "I wouldn't say that, darling. With a little help, we shall turn this place into the most romantic wedding destination in Panem."

The optimism in Sil's voice isn't reciprocated in Effie's when she sighs and murmurs, "I'm not sure, Silver. We only have a week to hide all this…reconstruction." She waves her hand and sighs again, as if the thought of Katniss having anything but the best brings her physical pain.

But Sil just simpers and turns back to the train. The next moment, she's calling, "Come, my loves! We've got a lot to do!" And, at the sound of her voice, a long line of people begins to emerge from the train car, carrying dozens upon dozens of materials and boxes of every shape and size.

Gauzy curtains, strands of pearls, fairy lights, luxurious swatches of fabrics – even potted plants – they're all carried onto the station and into the district in a very efficient manner, as if Sil has been preparing for this her entire life. Effie just stands there with her mouth hanging open in shock. As the line just keeps going, her mouth drops a little lower and her eyes get a little bigger.

Sil laughs at her expression, hooks her arms into hers, and leans in to whisper in a conspiratorial voice, "Darling, I'm  _Silver Lamprey Cornelius_. I'll turn this entire district into Katniss's dreamworld in a matter of  _days."_

Effie can only teeter there in her high heels and blink away happy tears, patting Sil's hand as if the woman has become her personal savior.

"Come along," Sil says, pulling Effie with her as the two women follow the long line of people Sil had enlisted to assist her. "Now, where does Katniss want the ceremony? We should focus on that, first."

Effie turns to her in confusion as asks, "…First? What else are you planning?"

With a raised eyebrow, Sil drawls, "Gracious, darling. I said I'd turn this  _entire district_ into a dream and I intend on doing exactly that. By the time I'm finished, the guests won't even realize this is District 12!"

After another tearful laugh, Effie says, "You're an angel, Silver. An absolute angel."

Sil just beams over at her and they continue down the road, bantering back and forth about the wedding preparations as if they've known each other since birth.

Katniss and Peeta welcome Sil with surprising happiness. Considering her strange and sometimes rough relationship with the Girl on Fire, Sil isn't sure what to expect, but when her and Effie finally approach the Victor's Village and see the pair waiting for them outside of their house, Katniss smiles at Sil with sincerity.

"Welcome to 12, Sil," Peeta greets, reaching out to grasp her hand. She grins at him, then turns to Katniss and throws her arms around the girl's frame. Katniss stumbles back a little in surprise, but returns the hug after a couple of moments.

"Katniss, Peeta," Sil exclaims, "It's so nice to see you again! I'm so happy to be here for your wedding. How have you been these past few months?"

Katniss glances over at Peeta, who laughs.

"We've been doing fine. What about you? We've seen you on TV an awful lot lately," Peeta responds, and gestures to the door of their house.

As the group goes inside, Sil shrugs, "Yes, well, Plutarch offered me a temporary job, if you will, and I rather liked the idea of keeping myself busy."

She doesn't miss the way Katniss gives Peeta a sideways glance. With a raised brow, Sil wonders, "What?"

Katniss just shrugs. "I just figured you and Finnick would want to settle down, that's all. I was really surprised to hear that you took that job."

Her words make Sil pause, floundering for a moment as she struggles to come up with a response. Whenever Finnick is mentioned, it's like she forgets how to speak. She swallows and clears her throat, looking away and searching for something – anything – that will direct the conversation elsewhere. After a drawn out moment in which Katniss and Peeta eye her with confusion, Sil's expression lights up and she shoves her hand into her purse.

"Oh! I nearly forgot! You're wedding gift," she explains, and hands them a hammered metal box that's been elaborately gilded with silver and bronze finishings. Katniss takes it with a strange look on her face, like she knows that Sil just purposefully changed the subject. Well, it hadn't been very elegantly done, Sil supposes as she lingers there in their living room, twisting her hands nervously as Katniss slowly opens the box.

The gasp that leaves her throat makes Sil beam, nervousness forgotten.

"Wow," Peeta breathes, looking over Katniss's shoulder as she lifts up one of the matching rings. The subtle glimmer of many miniscule jewels flourish in the lighting, reflecting onto Katniss's fingertips like tiny mirrors of reds and blues and greens.

Katniss looks up at her in stunned silence, and Sil laughs.

"Do you like them?" she wonders, pushing her hands behind her back with childish hopefulness. The Girl on Fire just gapes at her, and then after a long moment of this, she rushes forward to very uncharacteristically hug her.

Sil is shocked, truly. She idles there in surprise until Katniss pulls away and earnestly says, "They're beautiful. Thank you."

A smile slowly curls up Sil's face as Effie steps over to admire them. The Victor looks at Peeta, who nods his head in agreement and tells her, "They're incredible, Sil. We're so thankful. Really."

Effie's admiring gasp only makes Sil's smile deepen.

"I'm so glad," she responds genuinely, and then puts her hands on her hips and looks out the window. "I have a lot of work to do. Never fear, Katniss! I will transform this place into a wedding fit for the star-crossed lovers of Panem." Then, winking at them both in excitement, Sil heads back over to the door and says, "I'll get started immediately! No time like the present! It will be  _magical_  – " and the door shuts before the rest of her sentence can be heard.

Katniss and Peeta just look at each other, their expressions equal parts wary and amused.

Silver Lamprey Cornelius is, after all, a force to be reckoned with.

* * *

By the end of the third day, Sil's vision begins to take shape. Katniss clearly isn't expecting it, but then, she's never been to Sil's manor. She doesn't know the way the District 1 Victor lives. She doesn't realize just how extravagant her taste is.

"Uh. Wow," Katniss mumbles, taking in the sight at the edge of the forest. After debating with Effie and the bride herself, Sil had been informed that this is where Katniss wants to hold the actual ceremony. Other than having the trees become the background of the wedding, though, Katniss's expectations fall dramatically short. Sil isn't sure she's surprised. Though Katniss has only been in the public's eye until very recently, the Girl on Fire has a notorious reputation for being very casual.

Well. Sil can work with that. When it comes to a wedding, even casual can be elegant.

"Is it too much?" Sil asks with a raised brow, looking up at the hanging fairy lights and the round lanterns with a discriminatory eye. Honestly, it's not like she went to town or anything. She knows that Katniss prefers something much subtler than the wild Capitol wedding trends that are currently sprouting up in the city. Sil has become an expert in these trends these past few weeks, so she's positive that the current state of things is extremely laid back by comparison.

Coupled with the long tables that have been draped with gauzy fabrics and littered with very rustic centerpieces that Sil had put together using tree branches and berries, she thinks it all looks rather nice. Definitely more Katniss than her, but that's the whole point.

To the side, Peeta smiles over at Sil and says, "It's great. Don't you think, Katniss?"

They both turn to the girl with expectant looks on their faces, only for Katniss to pause and shrug in a rather halfhearted manner. Sil looks horrified.

"You don't like it, do you? What don't you like? I can change whatever you want – "

"No, no," Katniss interrupts with an amused laugh. "It looks great. Really," she adds quickly when she sees Sil open her mouth again.

After taking a moment to study Katniss's expression, no doubt looking for hints of exaggeration, Sil huffs, "Well if you don't like it, Katniss, please tell me. I shan't be offended. This is your day, and I want you to love it."

The sincerity in her voice makes Katniss smile. To be honest, she's not really sure how to act around the other Victor. Besides the fact that Sil is from an entirely different world than Katniss, Sil is also someone with a reputation that nearly equals her own. The Sterling Nightingale and the Mockingjay are both spoken about with the highest regard throughout Panem. Katniss thought she'd have trouble differentiating the previously foppish Sil with the person she is now – the real version of her – but she's surprised to find that Sil is so genuine and sincere. She's a good person, if not a little outrageous when it comes to her fashion.

In a lot of ways, Sil reminds her of any other Capitolite. She has to constantly remind herself that Sil is anything but that, and that really, the only similarities that exist between the two are in the prestigious mannerisms Sil holds herself to.

"I do like it," Katniss says. "I just – to be honest, Sil, I don't really care what the place looks like. This kind of thing goes beyond me."

Her honest answer makes Sil snicker. "Yes, I'm aware of that, darling." She laughs outright when Katniss glowers at her, and adds, "You don't have to worry about this part of it at all. That's why Effie and I are here, aren't we Effie?"

She glances at the previous District 12 escort, who gives a happy nod and says, "Yes, Katniss, all you have to do is  _relax_. Let us handle everything else."

Katniss smiles at them both, and Sil beams back.

When Peeta had asked her if she was interested in helping put everything together, Sil had been only too happy to join in. Of course, neither of them had realized just how much Sil would insist on contributing. Or just how seriously she'd take Katniss's preferences. It's endearing, in a way, that she wants to make the wedding as perfect for Katniss as possible.

Clapping her hands together, Sil exclaims, "Wonderful! Now Katniss, Peeta, let's talk about the music. I was thinking we could bring some fiddlers in for the reception. Thoughts? Oh – and Peeta, are you quite sure you can handle making the wedding cake yourself? Because I know a marvelous little bakery in District 1 that makes the most  _amazing_  chocolate cake I have ever eaten in my  _life_  – "

Effie steps beside them as they head down the street and adds, "We also need to think about the flower arrangements! Sil and I were thinking primroses. Do you like that idea, Katniss?"

The sudden mention of the flower that is her sister's namesake makes Katniss's floundering expression disappear. She turns to them both with sad eyes and swallows. Sil and Effie quiet down and look at her, soft smiles strewn over both of their faces.

Effie tuts and steps forward, grasping Katniss's shoulders gently. "I thought it would be a nice way to bring her memory into it. Is it too much?"

After a lengthy second, Katniss chokes, "No, it's a great idea. I love it."

Sil smiles gently at her and says, "Well then that's settled, at least. Effie will be in charge of the flower arrangements and the bouquet. She'll know just what to do."

Effie nods eagerly, and Katniss's smile widens.

"Thank you. Both of you," she repeats. Peeta slides an arm around her waist, and she leans against him immediately. No one knows exactly what Katniss is thanking them for, but Sil grins widely anyway.

They fall into a short silence as they continue walking down the streets of District 12, until Sil suddenly gasps and turns to Katniss with an excited, "Oh Katniss, I've just remembered! I've brought a whole suitcase of beauty products and make-up and things for you, if you want to look at them. Of course, Cinna isn't here to make you look fabulous, but I'm sure Effie is up to the task!"

Katniss's floundering expression quickly returns when Effie jumps in and exclaims, "We can both make you look beautiful – Silver, by the way, have you tried Gerald Sauveterre's new line of eyeshadows? Don't you adore how smooth they are?"

Sil immediately launches into an in-depth description of her very favorites, and Katniss gives her husband to be a raised eyebrow. Peeta chuckles quietly and pulls her along in front of the pair, who have become fast friends in the last three days.

"This is going to be a long week," Katniss mutters, much to Peeta's amusement. He can tell that she doesn't really mind, though, and he can see why. Having Effie and Sil here in District 12 has altered the entire atmosphere of the place – and not because of their decorating skills. Their upbeat personalities are warm and lovely to be around, and both of them have made them smile more in the past few days than they have in the past few months alone.

"It's going to be a wedding to remember, that's for sure," Peeta says, catching Katniss's eye with a smile.

He thinks, as he glances behind him at the chattering duo, that it will be a very, very long time before anyone forgets this particular celebration. Not if they have anything to say on the matter, at least.


	72. A beacon to the heavens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Peeta gives Sil some heartfelt advice, Finnick makes a reappearance, and vows are made.
> 
> Ah, the chapter you've all been waiting for! Finnick and Sil will have a very awkward reunion, but at least it's a reunion! Next chapter will detail the wedding reception and will have a more in-depth scene between them.

 

**Chapter Seventy Two | A beacon to the heavens**

" _She would have given worlds if she had felt the courage then to tell him everything." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

The morning of Katniss's wedding arrives with much fanfare. If she had expected she'd be able to sleep in, she is sorely mistaken. She's dragged out of her sleep when her bedroom door slams open and Effie strides in with a loud, "Chop chop, Katniss! Peeta, I'm afraid you must remove yourself from the bride's bedchambers. We have a lot of work to do!"

Sil isn't far behind, though she's quieter as she steps in carrying a tray of coffee mugs, cream, and sugar. She laughs at the sight Katniss makes as she sits up, clutching her blankets with reluctant fingers. Beside her, Peeta groans at the rough awakening and rolls over, hoping to ignore the interruption.

"Darlings, you really must get up. The guests will be arriving in only a few hours and we have so much to do still," Sil informs them in a dry tone, as if she finds this particular brand of torture to be quite amusing. Katniss glares sleepily at her, but it hardly lessens Sil's amused grin.

With what sounds like a cuss (though it's too mumbled to be sure), Peeta throws the covers off and stumbles out of the room after sending Katniss an apologetic glance. "Good luck," he tells her, as if he's as wary of the erratic duo as she is. Katniss just turns her glower to him, and the force of it sends him out of the room faster than anything.

As Effie throws open the bathroom door and starts to fill the tub with hot water, Sil slides onto the bed and hands Katniss a mug of coffee. Katniss takes it, though she's still glowering at Sil like the Victor has threatened her. Sil just smirks.

"It was Effie's idea," she shrugs. "I would have let you sleep in a little longer, but she insisted."

Katniss groans, takes a sip of her coffee, and mutters something about regretting inviting them. Sil laughs aloud at the muttered words and takes a sip of her own coffee. Her amusement towards the situation only makes Katniss's glower grow stronger.

"After your bath, we'll start making you presentable," Effie chirps as she reenters the room.

Katniss casts her a wary look and says, "But the wedding doesn't start until later tonight."

Her words make Effie and Sil exchange horrified looks. They both turn to stare at Katniss as if she's got two heads, and Katniss wriggles uncomfortably under the attention, wishing she could just kick them out of her room and go back to sleep. It's eight o'clock in the morning, for goodness sake, and her wedding is at six. She can't possibly need ten hours to prepare.

But Sil just simpers, "Katniss darling, I would have thought you'd be used to this by now. You've spent enough time around Capitol stylists to know how this works."

Katniss immediately looks aghast. "You're gonna repeat the whole process? Even the waxing?" She looks like she'd rather die.

Sil snickers and gets up, leaving the tray on the bedside table as she shrugs, "Gracious, no.  _I_  won't be doing any of that. I have to go make sure everything's running smoothly. I'll leave you in Effie's capable hands, my dear!"

And with that, Sil makes her exit before the sheer force of Katniss's glare can set her on fire. She chuckles as she shuts the door, clutching her coffee and continuing to snicker to herself all the way down the stairs.

"She's gonna get you back for that," Peeta informs her as she gets to the bottom, an amused smile spreading over his face.

Sil just smirks at his and says, "Oh I don't think so. By the time she has a chance to, she'll be far more focused on  _you_ , Peeta."

The blush that captures his cheeks makes her laugh even louder, and she quickly ducks out of the house before he can respond.

* * *

By three o'clock, half the guests have arrived. Trains come and go quickly, ushering people in from all over Panem. Sil sees a few of them – stops to chat with Beetee a bit and says a quick hello to a few familiar faces – but she's far too busy with last minute preparations to be overly social. District 12 is indeed transformed, but being the perfectionist she is, Sil checks everything twice to make sure it's up to her standards.

She tells herself it's because she wants to make sure Katniss and Peeta's wedding goes by without a hitch, but she knows it's only because she's  _nervous_ , and she needs to give herself something to do. The reason for her nerves is on his way this very minute, and comes in the form of a ridiculously handsome Victor from District 4.

She's so nervous to see Finnick again that Sil returns to Katniss and Peeta's house instead of going to ensure that the fairy lights she's strung all over the district are working. As the hours dwindle down, her hands start shaking for reasons other than her previous injury, and she finds that she needs to turn to the liquor cabinet for a short break.

That's how Peeta finds her. She's in the middle of pouring a glass of tequila when he steps into the living room, not yet dressed in his formal clothes but looking clean and primed. His hair has already been combed and he's wearing a crisp white button-down shirt. Sil has also found time to change into a gown, and it's probably as marvelous as the rest of the things she's accomplished since her arrival.

She's wearing an emerald green number that hugs her body elegantly and splices down the front to wrap around her waist in two pieces of fabric. Her arms are bared, and her shoulders and the majority of her back are on display. The straps are so thin that they barely appear to be holding the garment up as they slink down the back of the gown, which falls to her ankles in green silken waves. The whole thing is masterfully constructed in a seemingly simple but elaborate manner that Sil pulls off effortlessly.

"You look nice," Peeta compliments her, and she gives him a jittery smile that looks misplaced in the elegant image she creates. Glancing down at the glass of liquor in her shaking hands, he carefully asks, "You alright? You look more nervous than I do, and  _I'm_  the one getting married."

At this, Sil laughs. Her voice is as nervous as the rest of her. Peeta frowns in concern.

Waving him off, she says, "Oh, nothing. It's nothing. I'm only worried that the lights won't work properly and – I'm not much of an electrician you know – "

"Sil," Peeta interrupts, stepping up to her to pour himself a little glass too. He figures he could use something to keep his own nerves at bay. He looks at her and asks, "What's wrong?"

She purses her lips, and then swallows a large sip of tequila. As it burns down her throat, she gives Peeta a watery smile and whispers, "Really, Peeta. It's nothing."

With a look of determination, Peeta eyes her and says, "It's Finnick, isn't it?"

She's so shocked that she just gapes at him with her mouth hanging open in a decidedly unladylike manner. Does  _everyone_  in Panem know about her failure of a love life? Gracious!

Peeta chuckles at her, but his voice is serious when he murmurs, "I guess I'm right. What happened? I always figured that you two were bound to end up together. I mean, you're perfect for each other."

Are they? Sil isn't so sure. She hasn't been sure of that for a very long time.

With a tight smile, she walks to the nearby couch and collapses on it, reaching up to rub her forehead as she takes another large sip of the liquor. Peeta raises his eyebrows at her eccentric behavior and says, "You know, you can talk to me. From what I've gathered, you've been through something similar to what the Capitol did to me."

Sil glances up at him and shakes her head, "No, no, I mean – it wasn't  _nearly_  as awful as what happened to you, Peeta – "

He cuts in with a firm, "Really? Because from what I've heard, Felix really did a number on you. Yeah, I was tortured, but…"

The way he trails off, the knowing gleam in his eye, it all makes Sil stiffen and clear her throat awkwardly. She knows that everyone is aware of what, exactly, Felix did. Rape is not something to be taken lightly in any instance, and Felix's treatment of her…it had been more than horrendous. The nightmares that crawl at her skin even now makes her shiver. She still sees Felix in places she shouldn't. Her mind conjures him even when her thoughts idle in a different direction.

But worse, even, than the vulgar horrors of that room in District 1 is the way that the experience shattered the beautiful relationship she'd been beginning to grow with Finnick. Those nights that they'd spent together just before it had happened were so perfect that they bring tears to her eyes whenever she thinks on them. They do now, too.

How cruel fate has been to her, to give her precisely what she desires and then snatch it away before she can truly claim it!

Peeta sighs. "Sil, I've gotten to know you a lot this past week. You're a really nice person – a lot nicer than I thought you were." He laughs and says with a shrug, "I can see why Finnick likes you."

She gives him a watery smile. She guesses that Peeta really does know exactly what to say. His words are calming and gentle, administered with a small smile that makes his blue eyes shine. Katniss is a lucky girl.

Her smile falls quickly though, when she whispers to him, "…He's been waiting for me."

Peeta tilts his head. His eyes blaze questionably into hers – a silent inquiry that she responds to in a stilted voice. "…He told me to go to him, when I was ready. He's been waiting in District 4 for months, and I…" she trails off, then quietly looks up at Peeta and asks, "Peeta, am I an awful person?"

Understanding flickers through Peeta's eyes. He sighs out and goes to sit beside her. Leaning forward onto his knees, he gives her a sideways glance and says, "That depends, I guess. Did you string him along? Make promises that you never intended on keeping?"

She immediately sits up and exclaims, "Of course not!" Then, blushing at her adamant words and the gleam that grows in Peeta's gaze, she hunches back and mumbles, "I meant to go to him. I wanted to. I just…" she scrunches her nose and huffs, as if she's annoyed at herself.

Peeta gives her a second to compose herself before asking, "You just what?"

He watches as she takes another sip. She seems to be struggling with herself. Her thoughts are chaos, made all the worse by her frantic nervousness regarding Finnick's imminent presence.

After a moment of this, she breathes, "I don't know. Maybe I'm afraid of being in love."

Her words feel truer than any she's ever said, at least in the past five months. The realization of this doesn't seem to help her, though. She curls further into herself and leans her hand against her forehead with a scoffed, "You must think I'm such an idiot."

But Peeta doesn't think she's an idiot at all. He thinks she's endearing, and that her heart is a lot bigger than she often lets people see. He reaches forward to touch her shoulder and tells her, "Hey, I get it. Being in love isn't always easy. I mean, just look at Katniss and me."

His acceptance seems to make her feel a little better, for she lifts her head to peer at him and smiles, "You both make it look so simple. How do you do it?"

Peeta just shrugs. A boyish smile overtakes his face, and he blushes a little as he looks away from her. When he looks back, his eyes are twinkling and his happiness is somewhat contagious, because Sil smiles at him.

His answer is simple, straightforward, and obvious.

"I don't do it, not consciously. It's not something I can control. I just…do," he says.

She laughs at him and tells him, "That's it?" to which he just shrugs with a grin.

"The way I see it," he begins, leaning back into the couch comfortably, "is that when you find someone you want to be with for the rest of your life, and you don't think you can live without that person…I mean, think about it. What's worse? Doing something borderline crazy and facing your fears, or going without that person for the rest of your life and never seeing them again?"

She stares at him for a long moment, trying to picture both scenarios. They may both end up in failure. It's been months since she's seen Finnick, and spoken with him, and heard his laugh. And those months have been a misery all their own. Those days have been filled with missing him so desperately that the thought of missing him for another day – another hour even – hardly seems like an option. She thinks about going the rest of her life missing him. Days upon days of wishing he were there and knowing that she's lost him. And – of her own silly fears! The correct choice is obvious, but it doesn't lessen said fear.

Peeta watches all this play out in her eyes. When he sees the nervous energy come back around her like a blanket, he leans forward and calmly says, "Sil, you've literally turned this district into the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in under a week. I'm pretty sure you can go up to Finnick and tell him that you want to be with him."

Sil gives him an exasperated look. She opens her mouth to reply, but a voice suddenly speaks up to ask,  _"Does_  she want to be with me?"

She immediately stiffens, fingers clenching around the glass in her hands as her nervousness increases tenfold. It's so bad that her hands start shaking, and the ice cubes in her glass clink against the sides with vicious intent. Twirling around on the couch, Sil looks over to the doorway with wide, startled eyes.

Finnick Odair is leaning casually against the threshold, hands shoved into the pockets of his dress pants. He looks – ravishing. Incredibly handsome. Sil's heart presses up against her chest like it's trying to beat its way out of it entirely.

"Finnick," she breathes, before her throat closes up and swallows the rest of her words.

He stares at her with heavy eyes. There's something blank in them, like he's carefully hiding himself away from her. The warm expression she remembers him sending her many times in the past seems to have vanished, and in its place is a rough exterior of what once was. He looks like he's wary of her, almost. Like he thinks she has the power to utterly break him.

In wake of her silence, Finnick smiles. It's not the warm, loving smile she remembers. It's cold and sarcastic. He doesn't even try to make it seem otherwise.

"You know, Peeta," he says, as if Sil isn't even there. "…I've been asking myself that question for  _months_  now while she's been gallivanting off in the Capitol, and I still don't have the answer."

She doesn't know what it is, exactly. The way he speaks over her, like he's trying to make her feel small. The way he directs his words to Peeta like he doesn't even see her, even though his eyes are trained to hers and he hasn't looked away even once. The derisive way he speaks, as if he's barely reining in the full force of his sarcasm. The way he thinks she's been 'gallivanting' around, doing nothing but attending parties and wasting her time just as uselessly as her alter ego might have.

It's all of those things tightly bundled up together – everything and nothing and all the spaces in between – that makes Sil's eyes fill with tears and her hands shake so badly that she has to clench them so hard around her glass that her knuckles blanch stark white.

She feels so dizzy that she might faint. Nausea creeps through her body with startling potency. She had felt rather beautiful in her green dress, with her hair done up and her ears sparkling with emeralds, but beneath Finnick's judgmental stare, she suddenly feels like little more than an ant to be stepped on.

She has no idea how she manages it, honestly, but she pushes herself out of the room without falling or tripping even once, despite her legs feeling like they might collapse on her at any moment. She shoves herself past Finnick without a word, directing her gaze as far from his as possible so that he doesn't see the way her eyes fill with tears. He watches her go. He doesn't stop her. And as she pushes the front door open and ducks out into the beautiful streets lined with thousands of twinkling fairy lights, she bites her lip so hard that she feels blood invade her mouth.

Meanwhile, Finnick watches her leave with a conflicted expression on his face – part blank carelessness, part sorrow – and Peeta watches it all from the couch with a sigh.

He's about to speak up about Finnick's harsh words when Haymitch's voice drawls, "What, are you having a pre-wedding party in here and you didn't invite me?"

He steps up to the liquor cabinet, but instead of taking a glass, he just grabs the whole bottle. Peeta gives him a look which Haymitch promptly ignores, and turns back to Finnick to berate him on his poor entrance.

But – the Victor is gone, disappearing just as fast as he'd come, and Peeta can only sigh all over again.

Honestly. He thought his own love story was dramatic, but he's beginning to rethink that.

* * *

Sil disappears until the wedding starts. She flitters around the district like an errant wind, checking on Katniss and Effie's progress, telling Peeta he really ought to get dressed, forcefully wrestling Haymitch's whisky from his arms and making him go put his suit jacket on. By the time everyone is gathered at the edge of the forest, she's exhausted.

Effie had been in charge of seating arrangements. Sil wishes the woman hadn't thought it was such a good idea to sit all the Victors together. If she had her way, she's be sitting off to the side, as far away from Finnick as possible.

After their unexpected run-in, Sil hasn't seen even a trace of him. As her eyes cut through the crowded sea of chairs, she lingers on the back of his head for a long moment before looking down quickly and clearing her throat. Gracious, but this…this is even worse than how she thought it be might.

"Ready, sweetheart?" Haymitch's voice drawls by her side. She turns to him with a nod. She wants to get this over with.

She turns to Haymitch, gives him a once over, and huffs, "Gracious, Haymitch, you haven't even tied your tie the right way." She rolls her eyes at him and spins around, fingers quickly undoing the mess he'd made so that she can reknot it before the ceremony starts. Haymitch just gives her a wide smirk, looking like he enjoys her proximity. Sil isn't very impressed with him or his smirks.

"Easy there, sweetheart," he drawls, "you're dealing with precious cargo. I am the Best Man after all." He gives her an innocent smile, to which Sil stares at him for a second and then jerks his tie into a tighter knot, so that it gets pressed against his neck.

He coughs at the unexpected move – and the strength behind it – and mutters, "Okay, okay – I'll stop."

Effie appears soon after, and Sil leaves her to deal with Haymitch. She desperately yearns to stay right where she is, but the ceremony will be starting at any moment. Peeta's already at the alter, grinning out over the sea of familiar faces. She smiles at him, recalling his words from before. His calm tone had made her wonder why she'd been nervous at all. It had made her think that she could do it – love Finnick the way he deserves. Her courage had already been bolstering when he had appeared in the doorway and made it all shatter back down. At this point, it might just be at the lowest it's ever been.

She takes a deep breath and walks to their assigned seats at the front of the venue. All the remaining Victors had been invited, even Enobaria, though the woman had admittedly declined the invite. But the others – Johanna, Beetee, Finnick, and Annie – had all arrived and are gathered in their own row. Sil approaches them now, eyeing the only open seat with a look of utter dismay.

Finnick.

He looks at her for a long minute before sending her one of his old seductive smirks and purring, "I don't bite, sugar. Unless you ask of course."

Her shoulders stiffen, but she doesn't respond. Instead, she just awkwardly slides into the chair, sitting ramrod straight and clutching her fingers in her lap so tightly, they turn white. Her hands shake as they always do these days – remnants of her injury that have yet to disappear, and maybe never will – and Finnick takes notice.

"…You okay?" he asks, raising an eyebrow at her taut figure. She looks like she's trying to freeze herself into stone.

With a hard swallow, Sil mutters, "Fine." And that's that.

Johanna, Beetee, and Annie are all sitting on the other side of Finnick, so Sil can't even chat with them while they wait. Finnick does, though, effectively making her feel like the odd one out and the loneliest person in the room at the same time. She frowns at this, wondering how on earth they got to this point when everything was so incredibly perfect before.

"Hey, Cornelius, did you set all this up?" Johanna asks, leaning around Finnick to speak to her.

Surprised to be suddenly brought into the conversation, Sil flounders for a moment under the eyes of the others, and says, "Yes. Peeta asked me if I would help."

Johanna nods, eyeing the décor and the pretty strings of lights before telling her that she did a good job. Throughout the exchange, Finnick remains absolutely silent, and Sil doesn't try to continue conversing with the other woman because she feels so awkward.

It remains that way for about a minute, until Finnick suddenly drawls, "It's Odair."

Johanna raises an eyebrow at him, and he explains in a cold voice, "Her last name is Odair, not Cornelius. Everyone always seems to forget that." His eyes slant over to Sil's, obviously including her in the forgetful group, and she wilts in her chair.

She stays quiet and focuses on forcing her hands not to shake. Despite Finnick wanting to draw her hands into his own, he doesn't. The both of them stay perfectly still as the ceremony begins. Katniss walks down the aisle in a simple but elegant wedding gown, and the room hushes down into silence as the vows are exchanged.

Finnick's reminder makes Sil miserable the whole time, as she remembers that Capitol wedding so long ago, where she had made similar vows to the man sitting beside her, and he to her. She hadn't really thought it counted. It had all been a ruse for Snow's benefit, after all, and though a part of her had meant the words she had spoken to Finnick that day, it wasn't as if they had both agreed to be there out of love for each other. Not the same kind of love that fills the room when Peeta slides the ring onto Katniss's finger and tells her that he'll love her until his last breath. Not the kind of love that makes a huge smile brim over Katniss's face as the two break apart from their brief kiss to walk back down the aisle.

The first moment she can, Sil stumbles out of the chair and joins the crowd as everyone follows the bride and groom to the reception area. She is relieved to get lost in the throng – relieved to be separated from Finnick. Her relief in and of itself is heartbreaking. That she could yearn to be anywhere but by his side is a tragedy, but he's made it rather clear that he's perfectly fine with it.

She believes it only too easily.


	73. Upon my weary soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Sil doubts.
> 
> I do apologize for making Sil and Finnick's lives hell, but I'm afraid we aren't quite finished with the suffering yet. Luckily, this is the last chapter that really stews in the angst, and then things will get better.

 

**Chapter Seventy Three | Upon my weary soul**

" _Her love for him had been paltry and weak, easily crushed by her own pride: and she, too, had worn a mask in assuming a contempt for him, whilst, as a matter of fact, she completely misunderstood him. How strange it all was! She loved him still. And now that she looked back upon the last few months of misunderstandings and of loneliness, she realized that she had never ceased to love him." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

Everyone gathers at the reception. Katniss and Peeta have a table all to themselves, beneath flickering strands of lights and hanging pearls and lanterns. The rest of the area is decorated in much the same way, with potted ferns and other fauna dotted here and there and strands of flowers hanging from the tree branches. The place is lit up with hundreds of lights and covered candles, making it look like a dreamworld conjured just for this occasion.

Sil, thankfully, sits at a different table from Finnick. Because of her efforts, she's afforded a seat closer to the bridal table. Effie sits beside her and together, they chat about how nice the ceremony was and how beautiful Katniss is and how well Effie did in transforming her. But – Sil's heart isn't really into it.

Every now and then, when she thinks it won't be too obvious, she glances over at Finnick's table. And every time she does, he's leaning over Annie, talking and smiling and filling her plate with more food and clinking their glasses together and – every time, Sil's heart drops a little further in her chest.

Perhaps she'd been right after all. Perhaps Finnick's moved on. She wouldn't be surprised. Annie is lovely, and her heart is pure and innocent despite the horrors she's gone through. And she's from District 4. She's probably known Finnick since they were kids. Really, Sil doesn't stand a chance. The realization of this only drags her further down.

Of course she's always known that Finnick and Annie were close. They're Victors from the same district and they've had plenty of time to bond over the years. Their friendship is as warm as ever, but a sinister voice whispers in Sil's ear as she watches them; a memory from so long ago, on a wedding night that she had not meant to steal from him.

"… _When I was a boy, I used to be completely in love with Annie Cresta."_

He had whispered those words right into her ear with a smirk, eyes shining with amusement, as if the memory of his boyhood crush gave him a happiness he hadn't felt in ages. But what if that crush from long ago is not such a distant memory at all? What if Finnick still feels something for Annie – something that Sil is unable to give him? A certain brand of happiness that she has never, and perhaps will never, be able to bestow upon him?

Her throat constricts at the thought. She stares at them through blank eyes, carefully scraping away the agony that this possibility brings. She turns her eyes to the table in front of her and keeps them there, hardly able to bear the sight of Finnick and Annie and their happy banter. She feels like she's intruding, suddenly, on a part of him that she's never seen.

Why would she have seen his so happy? All she's brought him is pain and deceit. Not for the first time, that sinister voice whispers that she doesn't deserve him – and she never will, not even if she is allotted years of making it all up to him. She's wronged him these past few months. She knows it. But in his own way, he has also erred. Perhaps it isn't fate at all that has torn them apart so cruelly. Perhaps it is merely the whims of human nature, the stubborn obstinacy that dictates pride over emotion.

She picks at her food, drudging her way through the meal unhappily. Her misery is so complete that even her best attempts at keeping it at bay fall utterly short, and it traces over the contours of her face for all to see.

Halfway through the meal, Peeta stands up. Everyone turns to him, conversations falling quiet as a hush spreads over the gathering. The groom smiles widely, eyes twinkling brightly, and raises his voice to address the crowd.

"Thank you all for being here to celebrate with us," he says. "I'll bet you were all surprised to see the new version of District 12, when you stepped off your trains. We've all been hard at work, trying to make this place livable again, and – I'm thinking we should keep the fairy lights on all year round."

Chuckles spread through the crowd. True to her word, Sil hadn't just created a beautiful wedding venue – she transformed the entire district with the pretty little lights and decorations. In the evening darkness, the whole district is awash with the glow of a thousand tiny lightbulbs that flicker like lightening bugs on a warm summer night.

It should make her proud, but Sil is having a hard time appreciating anything right now. She draws her wine glass closer, realizes that her fingers are shaking too much to hold it properly, and sets it back down before she can accidentally spill the contents all over her expensive gown. The ever present whiplash of her injuries only make her frown deeper.

"I fell for Katniss when I was a boy," Peeta laughs, glancing down at his new wife. "…She didn't even know I existed for a long time after. We've been through a lot – we all have – but it's nice to know that sometimes, happy endings do exist, even when can't see them coming. I clearly did something right, didn't I?"

More chuckles. Peeta is good with words. He's charming and lighthearted. He's come a long way in these last few months.

"I'd like to thank a few people," Peeta starts, clearing his throat and smiling. "Haymitch, you haven't been the easiest person to deal with, but you've saved our lives more than once." The older Victor smiles into his glass and waves him off as if he's silently telling him to leave him out of it. Peeta, and the majority of the other guests, laugh a little at the reaction.

"Katniss, for putting up with me through thick and thin. For believing in me when I was at my lowest point," he says, voice slightly softer as he glances over to the girl sitting beside him. She smiles up at him, eyes glimmering. Peeta reaches down to squeeze her hand.

"…Effie, for giving us a new perspective of the Capitol and making us all realize that people are  _people,_  no matter where they come from," he says, nodding over at Effie, who sits beside Sil. Sil gives her a little smile as Effie tears up, not having expected to be considered.

"For all the Victors gathered with us tonight," he says, "for standing up with us and fighting for this new world, despite the sacrifices that it's cost."

The crowd murmurs its agreement, but Peeta isn't yet finished. With a soft smile, he glances over at Sil and says, "And for one Victor in particular, who plowed into District 12 only a week ago and, with Effie's help, transformed this entire place into the beautiful scene you see around you now." Sil's shoulders stiffen slightly as the attention gets turned to her. She presses her hands into her lap and clears her throat, at once altering her awkward expression into a beaming smile. She doesn't know if she succeeds in conjuring up the foppish grin she once wore so often, but it's the only thing she can think to do as she sits there beneath the spotlight.

Peeta, though, takes her off guard even further when he continues, "Sil also went a step further for us, and personally crafted the wedding rings Katniss and I are wearing. Sil, do you want to say a few words?"

As if she isn't already stiff and uncomfortable with all this attention on her, Peeta's suggestion surprises her so much that she can only stare at him with wide eyes, utterly swept away by the request. She hadn't planned to make a speech! Gracious!

The guests seem amused by her dashed wit, until Sil shakily rises from her chair. Then, a hush falls upon them all, and she wracks her brain for something to say. Slicing her eyes over to Peeta's amused gaze, she throws him a glower. He's probably getting her back for earlier this morning, when her and Effie had rudely awoken him.

Well. She's nothing if not exceedingly good at coming up with something to say.

Clearing her throat, Sil addresses the crowd in a voice that does not give away her nervousness or embarrassment. Silver Lamprey Cornelius does not get embarrassed about those kinds of things – she lives to be the center of attention. She adores it.

So in a humbled voice, she says, "As Peeta said, their wedding bands were a gift." She pauses, and then continues, "In District 1, gemstones have particular importance. I'd like to share the meanings of the jewels I used with you."

The crowd waits. Sil swallows and twists her fingers together at the edge of the table, hoping to quell the trembling that sweeps through them. She glances over at Peeta and Katniss.

"A ruby, for passion – for the fire that burns brightly even through the darkness you've endured together. A sapphire, for the hard times. The times where you – you were broken, and the times you rebuilt each other. And an emerald, everlasting, to symbolize the years that you will continue to endure, because you have the passion and the courage and the fortitude to move forward even when you feel that there are some barriers that cannot be crossed…"

She trails off, thinking of her own barriers, and the imposing structure of their pressure.

She thinks of Finnick and home.

"We make many luxury items back in District 1," she suddenly says, seemingly off topic. She feels everywhere and nowhere all at once, like she's adrift in this sea of faces who watch her. She tries to make her voice calm and collected, but she fears that it shakes almost as much as her fingers, and she clings to the table like it's the only thing keeping her standing.

With a deep breath, she explains, "But – glass is one of our most important exports. We make it from the desert sand. When you heat the sand at a high enough temperature, the individual granules melt together. We can create beautiful things from something so seemingly simple, and we've done the same thing with our country as well. We've all sacrificed our fair share to get to where we are now. We've had to give up many things, but we've gained – so much more, for both ourselves and for the generations to come. And out of everyone in Panem, Katniss and Peeta deserve all the happiness in the world."

She smiles, and reaches for her glass. It trembles when she lifts it. She isn't sure why – whether it's an effect of her nerves or her busted fingers. Clenching it tightly to try to stop the shaking, she clears her throat and says, "I'd like to raise a toast, to the love you've found in the heart of war. As we say in my district: the end of the desert is the beginning of life. May your journey be as passionate, and as bold, and as everlasting as the stones you now wear."

As one, the entire audience reaches for their own glasses. There's a chorus of glass clinking together as the crowd whoops and cheers for the bridal pair, apparently pleased enough by Sil's impromptu speech. Across the room, Peeta catches her eye and gives her a thankful nod, to which she smiles in return. She's about to reclaim her chair when her eyes swoop out into the suddenly boisterous crowd, only for her gaze to lock with a pair of sea green eyes.

She falters. Finnick is staring at her, but she can't read his expression. There's something in his gaze, something about the way he takes her in, that makes her heart skip a beat. She can't sit back down fast enough, fearing that his stare will make her knees give out before she can make it to safety.

Gracious – why is her heart pounding so much? It's difficult to breathe.

Before she can peer back over at him to see if he's still looking at her, the raucous sound of fiddlers strikes up a tune, and people start getting up to cheerfully start dancing. Sil sits back to watch as the entire crowd laughs and twirls around the tables.

"Nice speech," Johanna's voice cuts through her little bubble, and Sil startles in her chair, very nearly spilling half her drink on the pristine tablecloth.

She turns to Johanna with a huff. "It wasn't planned, trust me," she retorts, looking a little dismayed at the lack of forethought. If Peeta had mentioned he wanted her to give her a speech before, she'd have come up with something much better.

Johanna smirks and slides into the empty seat beside her. She crosses her arms and looks out over the jubilee taking place before them and drawls, "Well I think it hit the nail right on the head. One head in particular." She nods over to where Finnick is now twirling Annie around on the edge of the dance floor.

The pair look astoundingly well matched, spinning to the beat as if they've been dance partners their entire life. They're probably very used to fiddle music. She vaguely remembers him telling her, once, how District 4 has plenty of fiddling sea shanties.

She doesn't take Johanna's words the way the other Victor means her to, though. The sinister voice is back, whispering at Sil as she watches Finnick grab Annie's waist and laughingly twist her around. Rather than realizing that Johanna is, in fact, referring to Finnick and Sil, she assumes her to be talking about him and Annie.

Frowning into her glass, Sil mutters, "Yeah. Looks like it."

Johanna turns to look at her unlikely friend with a sharp eye. She's about to tell her she's an idiot – she can already see it coming from the way Johanna's eyes gleam – but Sil just cuts in with a blurted, "I think I need some fresh air. I'll see you later, Johanna."

Before the aggressive Victor can stop her, Sil stands up and turns on her heel, leaving the upbeat gathering in a flurry of emerald skirts. She doesn't look behind her as she leaves, and because of this, she misses quite a few things.

She misses the way Finnick's eyes immediately cut over to her departing figure. She misses the way he stumbles in the dance, nearly stepping on Annie's shoe. She misses the way Annie laughs at him and nudges him to follow. She misses a lot, these days. Maybe she's always missed the important things – let them slip away from her without a proper fight.

She finds herself, several minutes later, on the front stairs of one of the Victor's houses several blocks away from the party. Everyone in the district is celebrating, so she is utterly alone as she collapses onto the stone step. The distant sound of fiddling is the only sound she hears as she lifts her glass of wine to her lips and closes her eyes against the bittersweet taste. That is, until another sound interrupts her solitude.

"You know, I don't think I've ever seen Katniss act so girlish about a piece of jewelry," a familiar voice smoothly says, and Sil jumps.

Finnick is standing a few feet away, hands casually stuffed into his pockets and he looks down at her with the same eyes that had, only minutes before, made her heart skip. It skips again as she looks up at him, inhaling deeply around the surprise she feels at his sudden arrival.

After a moment of just staring at each other, Finnick silently takes a seat next to her. The fairy lights that are strewn everywhere reflect things in his expression that doesn't help to quell the furious beat of her heart. She wonders if the subtle gleam of warmth in his eyes is just a trick of the light. Not knowing what to say to him, she just looks down at her trembling fingers and remains quiet.

"That was a good speech," he tells her after a long moment.

She pauses, then quietly says, "Thank you."

He looks over at her. "I think you're wrong, though."

Startled, she glances back at him and meets his eye, but Finnick only reaches to take her wine glass from her hands. After he places it on the stone step behind them, he turns back to – at last – take her fingers into his. She lets him, because she yearns for his touch and because she's too surprised to do anything but sit there and drown in that very same yearning.

His fingers are warm against hers. They engulf her smaller hands with solid comfort. The trembling movements of her fingers, the shakiness that she's endured for months now, due to her fragile bones – it all vanishes the moment he entwines their fingers together. It's almost as if he's pressing his strength into her skin.

Looking over at her, he murmurs, "Out of everyone in Panem,  _you're_  the one who deserves to be happy."

Without her permission, Sil feels her eyes get watery. She swallows, tightening her grasp on his hands and ducking her head to avoid his penetrating stare. She feels suddenly bare, like he can see right through her. As if all the defenses she's constructed to protect herself just fall away, like so many granules of sand rolling over each other.

They remain irrevocably still as they sit together on the step, fingers entwined. Even their breathing is quiet, as if they are both afraid of breaking the moment. That – if they do, everything that is left between them will fall into such disrepair that it will never be fixed.

They stay like that for a long time, until…

"Why didn't you come?" he very softly whispers, just a slip of sound that barely makes a noise.

The question makes her falter, yet again. She lifts her eyes to his and is utterly caught off guard at the sheer emotion brewing behind his eyes. There's a certain sorrowful longing in them. She is astounded at the potency of it.

Just as softly, she haltingly mumbles, "I was afraid."

Her answer has him taking a deep breath before he wonders, "Of what?"

She laughs quietly, as if the question is silly, and tells him in a voice that hints how he should already know, "Of loving you."

She feels his fingers tighten around hers. She hears his breathing get ragged. She peers up at him and smiles, "Honestly, Finnick. What a thing to ask."

The slight edge of humor in her voice makes him chuckle, too.

It's suddenly as if the entire day has been erased amid the gentle way they smile at each other. The harsh gaze he'd given her before is gone. The restricted way they'd greeted each other is long past. The awkwardness between them is shattered.

She doesn't know what she was thinking, all this time. Loving him is  _easy_ , but the knowledge of it only makes her heart fall into despair, because –

Annie.

Her smile turns bittersweet. He looks a little confused at the way her eyes darken with sadness, especially when she sighs, "My train leaves soon. I should head to the station."

He doesn't respond. He's too caught up in the desperate thunder of disorientation that he feels at the sudden shift. For a second there, he'd thought…well, he doesn't know what he'd thought. Only it hadn't been this.

He's still fumbling there, speechless for the first time he can remember, as he tries to think of something to say to her – something that will convince her to  _stay_  with him, to  _not go_  –

But Sil only reaches out to slide a hand over his face, and he gets momentarily distracted by the way she leans in to press her lips against his cheek. He sighs out, closing his eyes. He's never known such a chaste kiss to be so intimate before, but the mere feeling of her mouth against his skin makes his entire body burn with such potent desire that he fears he may burst into flames.

But then it's over, and Sil is pulling away and whispering, "Goodbye, Finnick."

And he can't seem to do anything but continue to fumble as he sits there on the lonely steps of the empty Victor's village and watch the love of his life leave him again. And he wants to go after her – really, he does – but he can't seem to get his muscles to move. So he just watches the elegant swish of her emerald skirt as it disappears from him like smoke through his fingers, and keeps fumbling even when it's long gone.

He's still there hours later, hardly moving because now, he thinks that if he tries to stand he'll fall and the great Finnick Odair never falls, so –

He just sits there holding Sil's wine glass in his hands, staring down at the smudge of crimson lipstick that brushes over the edge, and he thinks he's maybe being a little dramatic, but it feels like his heart crumbles into dust.


	74. But when I hold you, I believe that

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Sil goes to District 4, meets Annie, and misunderstands.
> 
> Alright, I know the story has taken a very angsty turn that some of you may not have enjoyed overmuch, BUT we are now at the very end of it, and the next chapter will be the one you have all been waiting for woohoo! On that note, hope you all enjoy, have a great weekend, and I'll see everyone on Tuesday's update!

 

**Chapter Seventy Four | But when I hold you, I believe that**

" _The distant roar of the waves now made her shudder; the occasional dismal cry of an owl, or a sea-gull, filled her with unspeakable horror. She thought of the ravenous beasts – in human shape – who lay in wait for their prey, and destroyed them, as mercilessly as any hungry wolf, for the satisfaction of their own appetite of hate." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

The look in his eyes haunt her. She can't stop thinking about it, even when she steps back into the heated squalor of District 1 and returns to the ambient folds of her manor. He's there, in her mind, lingering beneath her eyelids every time she blinks. Like a conjured ghost, his footsteps follow her everywhere she goes, until she can't take it anymore. She thinks she might need him even more than the oxygen she breathes. And therein lies the tragedy of it all, for her misunderstandings breed a desperate conviction that Finnick does not love her – that he loves someone else.

By the fourteenth day, Sil breaks. She's standing in her bedroom; a statue at the center of the rich furnishings. The expensive opulence of the room makes her feel like a stranger in her own home. Her very sanctuary feels like a purgatory of hateful scorn.

Gemma is caught by surprise when he hears the commotion coming from the room. He hurries into it, expecting to see Sil hurt or in pain but all he sees is her storming through the large space, ripping it to shreds. Broken vases litter the floor. The drapes have been heaved from their rails and pool at the floor beneath the windows in huge reaves of fabric. Her bed is in a similar state – silken sheets tossed haphazardly to the ground and pillows at the other end of the room. She's upended the contents on her bureau. The little porcelain figurines and glass baubles are shattered on the floor, and next to them is his equally shattered daughter.

He takes one look at her and realizes that she  _is_  in fact hurt and in pain. Very much so.

Silently, Gemma slips through the ruined room to kneel beside her. He lifts her head in his hands, only to see that she's sobbing quietly, eyes gleaming with such misery that his very breath is stolen from his lungs.

"My darling," he whispers, and then brings her into his arms. She cries against him, shaking like a leaf in a hurricane as she unravels. Too shocked for words, Gemma can only hold her until her cries quiet down and she just drowns there against him silently.

He doesn't say anything at all for a long time. Instead he just threads his fingers through her hair and gently rubs her back as if he thinks she might break just as easily as all the glass pieces haloing out around them on the polished wooden floors.

And then, in a solemn voice, he whispers, "Tell me."

Those two little words are all it takes for Sil to start crying again, for the comfort of his voice and his body is almost too much for her to bear. She clutches her father with tight fingers, burrowing her face into his chest with a heaving sob and crying, "I've lost him. I've lost him."

Gemma holds his breath. The utter despair that clings to her voice is heart wrenching. A father's protection is fierce, made all the more so when the thing he needs to protect her from the most is herself.

"What happened? I thought you said you enjoyed yourself at the wedding," he softly says, tightening his arms around her as her body trembles even more.

In response, Sil just shakes her head wildly against him and cries harder. Gemma sighs.

"The wedding was wonderful," she hiccups, and falls silent again. Her father pulls back to look down at her and purses his mouth. Her eyes are red and swollen and puffy, her face pale. There's a look of utmost sadness about her entire aura, and it's a terrible thing to see, but…

Gemma can't help but think that his daughter is perhaps sillier than she wants to admit. He's seen the way Finnick cares for her firsthand. To imagine that the other Victor could feel anything but love for his daughter is incomprehensible. And yet he knows Sil. He understands the way her mind works. She overthinks things. Her mind is constantly at work, whirling through her thoughts at lightning speed. It's helped her do her job as the Nightingale, but there is no reason for her to overanalyzing now.

Studying her carefully, Gemma sighs, "There's only one thing for you to do, dove." At her questioning, pleading look, he tells her, "Go to District 4."

Immediately, she shakes her head, "No, I can't, father – "

"You're the most courageous person in this Godforsaken country," he interrupts firmly, tightly clutching her shoulders as if he wants to shake sense into her. "You've singlehandedly tricked the entire Capitol into falling for your ruse and went behind everyone's back to  _risk your life_  in order to save people destined to die for no crime besides a desire for freedom. Silver," he pauses, sighing, "you  _can_. You will."

She shakes her head again, more erratically this time, and heaves, "He must hate me. I've made him wait for months and – I said goodbye to him  _again_  – "

Shifting a hand to cup her cheek, Gemma calmly says, "He doesn't hate you, dove. Trust me."

Tears pool in her eyes and slip down her face. Her father brushes them away.

"Please, Silver. I can't bear to see you live like this," he whispers. "You're miserable. I don't want to make you do anything but – there's a train that leaves in two hours. You'll be in District 4 by the afternoon."

Fear like nothing else curdle in her chest. To face him again, after kissing his cheek and saying goodbye the way she had – as if she had meant it as forever – it's too much. She doesn't think she has enough courage to do something like this.

Her father does, though. He grasps her face and says resolutely, "If you don't do this, you'll regret it for the rest of your life."

She knows he's right about that. And so, hesitantly, with quiet fright, she slowly nods. She gets on the train for District 4 later that day, and Gemma prays that she stays the course.

* * *

Her nerves are on fire. When a cool voice says over the intercom, "Arriving in District 4 shortly. Prepare to unboard," Sil isn't sure she'll be able to even walk, her legs are so shaky.

But she does, somehow. She pulls herself up and pushes herself to the doors, and when they open and she's hit with a wave of salty sea air, she trembles. She has to remind herself that she's Silver Lamprey Cornelius – the Sterling Nightingale – and that she  _does not_  tremble. It doesn't entirely work, but at least she's able to compose herself enough to step onto the platform and not run back into the train before the doors sweep shut. She stands there stiffly until the entire train zips away, and only when there's absolutely no chance of returning does she walk into the district.

It looks exactly as she remembers. The buildings are the same, the streets are the same, the shops are the same. The only thing that's different is the atmosphere, which is far lighter than the last time she's been here. It feels like an eternity ago.

It's a little past three o'clock, and the midday sun beams down on the town cheerfully. There's an overall sense of friendliness to the exchanges going on before her as she walks through the market square, where about a dozen or so vendors are set up at its center. As she slips between shops and stalls, she watches people barter amicably, making jokes and playful jeers as they throw numbers into the wind.

"Ah, come on Dawson, you gave me the same amount last week for less – "

"Five and a quarter and no more. I've got two kids to think about – "

"You're already out of shrimp? What happened to the morning haul?"

Sil feels more at peace as she idles there, studying the market with a curious expression. She's never really witnessed this sort of buying and selling procedure before. Bartering is not a common practice in District 1. If you can't pay the full price, then you don't bother inquiring into the item at all. It's much the same in the Capitol.

She winds her way through the stalls curiously, in no hurry to find Finnick's house yet. She craves any and every excuse to buy a little more time, to quiet her racing heart and to think on what she's going to say to him. As she weaves through the wares – everything from fishhooks to sea glass jewelry – Sil has absolutely no idea. Her wit seems to finally well and truly vanished.

She pauses by a stand of finely crafted fishermen nets and idly touches the corner of one. The sturdy rope is rough beneath her fingertips.

"You look familiar," the woman behind the stand grunts. Sil looks up in surprise, having not really noticed her. She's thinking too hard on what to do that for the first time in her life, she's completely disregarding her surroundings.

When her bright green eyes connect with the woman's, a look of surprised recognition crosses the lady's face. Sil peers at her in confused wariness, but the woman just throws back her head and laughs. It's a barking sound, like a pack of wild dogs and – not that it's necessarily unpleasant, but Sil jumps because she doesn't want to draw attention to herself.

The woman is middle-aged, with fine wrinkles creeping up around her mouth and the corners of her eyes. She looks hearty and fierce, with a tough gleam in her eye and impressively muscular arms. Sil isn't really sure what the quintessential District 4 woman is like, but she suddenly decides that this lady fits the description in her mind very accurately.

"So you've finally come, then," the woman nods, looking pleased. Sil just gawks at her. Her expression must be extremely amusing, because the woman laughs again – a full rounded sound, hearty and boisterous – and says, "You  _are_  that Cornelius girl, ain't ya? The Nightingale everyone's been talking about." Sil hesitantly clears her throat and starts to nod her head in response, when the woman plows on and adds, "Finnick's girl, yeah? I was starting to wonder if you actually existed."

She freezes. Finnick's girl?

The woman studies her with a sharp eye and drawls, "Your man works for my husband, Rory, down at the docks. He's a good worker – hardly takes a break. Made a good life for himself here, now that Snow's gone."

Sil smiles hesitantly and murmurs, "Yes, I – I know."

The woman raises an eyebrow. It looks like she's aware of Sil's awkward behavior, but maybe she just assumes that it's normal. With a shrug, the woman tells her, "Name's Della. You go by Sil?"

Sil pushes her hands behind her back and nods. Della grunts.

"Well listen, girl," she says, despite the introductions, "you go down toward the beach, that way – and you'll see a little blue cottage. He'll be home today. He ain't got any shifts on Sundays."

Della gestures behind her with a sharp jab. Sil steps away eagerly. Gracious, she's not sure what to say around this woman! She's not at all like the sort of people Sil usually associates with. Though – in a way, the lady reminds her of Johanna, and Sil makes an effort to smile regardless of her wariness.

"Thank you," she says sincerely. The woman pauses, smiles back, and waves her on.

As Sil takes her leave, Della shouts back, "You be good to him, ya hear?"

Sil smiles again, but she can't stop the nervousness from overtaking her as she makes her way deeper into the district.

There's a certain charm here, as if the very air is enchanted by some whimsical force of magic. It plays on her, makes her imagine things that, perhaps, she should not imagine. A life that she yearns for with every fiber of her being – and suddenly she can see herself in this place, bantering back and forth with Della and the other vendors, exchanging her jewels and silks for sea glass and rope.

It's a beautiful feeling. It buffets through her like a tall wave, until her nervousness dies down to a soft buzz that she barely feels. By the time she gets to the beach and sees a cozy blue cottage near the edge of it, Sil's heart is not frantic with fear, but pulsing with earnest excitement.

They say that fear and excitement are really the same thing. That the mind produces the same chemicals for the both of them, and that it's the way you interpret the emotions that differentiates them. She really hopes that's true.

She takes a deep breath, paints on a smile, and walks up to the door. Then she raises her hand, and lingers there with her fist inches away from the wood. Her hand falls back down to her side.

"Gracious," she mumbles to herself, and pulls her shoulders back as she raises her hand again. Before she can chicken out, she knocks on the door.

It's silent. She waits. And then the sound of footsteps approach, and Sil bites her lip as the doorknob turns and opens.

Her eyes are bright and gleaming. She holds her breath as she looks up at the figure standing in front of her, and then within the space of a second, her smile falls away in a sharp cadence of shock and nauseous bitterness.

"…Annie?" she questions. Her voice sounds far away.

The woman standing in the threshold beams. "Sil! I can't believe you've come! Oh – how nice to see you again!"

Sil gives her an absentminded smile because she's not sure what else to do, but her eyes are not drawn to Annie's hopeful expression. Instead, she's staring in wild confusion at the way the woman has wrapped one hand around her abdomen, which is slightly more rounded than Sil remembers.

"Are you  _pregnant?"_  she blurts out before she can stop herself, sounding shocked and disorientated. Annie's response quickly makes her shock churn into something far darker, though.

"Yes!" she says with a happy laugh. "Two months. I only just found out a week ago. Finnick is so excited! He's hoping it's a boy. He's already planning on teaching the little one how to get girls." She raises a hand to her mouth as she chuckles, rolling her eyes at Finnick's behavior.

At this, Sil stumbles, at a total loss for words. She's still smiling at Annie, but her expression suddenly tightens, and her eyes get watery. Annie looks a little concerned. She reaches out to touch Sil's shoulder and says, "He's upstairs right now. He pulled a muscle during his last shift at the docks, so he's taking it easy today. I offered to make him some soup." She shakes her head and adds, "That man works himself too hard."

Sil is still in a state of shock. She hadn't expected this. This is so…so utterly…so unexpected that she hardly even knows what to think.

Somehow, she manages to babble, "He must be…so happy…"

Annie smiles widely and nods. "Oh yes, he'll be really happy. And he's excited about the baby of course, but now…" she grins at Sil as if she thinks that Sil is a savior. Sil just gives her a strained smile that doesn't reach her eyes.

"I'll go get him," Annie suddenly says, shuffling back a bit. "He's in bed resting, but he'll want to talk to you the first moment he gets – "

She doesn't know what comes over her, exactly, but she suddenly blurts out, "No!" in a breathless voice, lurching forward to grasp Annie's arm before the woman can make a move. Annie turns to look at Sil with large, confused eyes, as if she's got no idea why the other Victor is acting like this.

But Sil hardly sees her. All she sees is Annie's baby bump and the comfortable way the woman stands in Finnick's cottage as if she's already made it her own. Oh, what has she done? Why did she come here? To torture herself even more? To make one final attempt to cling onto the memory of Finnick's love for her, as if she actually still possesses it? How stupid she is!

Her eyes fill with miserable tears that she quickly blinks away, and she heaves, "No, that's – that's quite alright. I'll have plenty of chances to talk to him when…when he's feeling better – I – I really should get going, Annie. I've got to be in the Capitol for an event tonight and I really need to prepare – "

She cuts herself off before she can babble on anymore and lurches back, as if the very house is cursed. She shuffles back down the wooden steps, nearly tripping backwards on the last one. And throughout all this, Annie just stares at her in total confusion, as if she doesn't know what's going on.

Sil stiffly smiles at her and, swallowing back a wave of misery, stumbles out, "I hope you're both so happy, Annie. I'm sure you'll make great parents. I'm really…really happy for you."

Then she turns on her heel and, as she hurries back into town, she doesn't hear Annie's confused voice calling, "Wait – Sil, you've got it all wrong – "

She doesn't hear anything except her heart as it falls into the ocean and sinks to the bottommost corner of it, never to be found again.

The sky opens up before she can reach the train station. Maybe it's habit that pushes her into the first shop she sees. She doesn't like the feeling of wet clothes against her skin.

Maybe it's not habit at all, but fate.

Unshed tears cloud her vision. She doesn't know where she is until a voice asks, "Is that you, Silver?", and Sil looks up to see a woman who looks vaguely familiar, standing behind a counter. When their eyes clash, Sil remembers who she is.

"Serena?" she asks, voice trembling. The woman stares at her in shock. Sil's not sure she's surprised. The last time she'd been in this run-down corner shop, she'd been  _Silver Lamprey Cornelius,_  Panem's silliest socialite. She'd pranced her way over the tiled floors with her customary simpering expression and inane eyes, and had trilled in her over-exaggerated posh accent about how quaint and adorable this little town is.

Serena takes one look at her teary eyes and hunched shoulders and tuts, "Now, this won't work. Come and have a seat over here, and I'll get you some hot chocolate."

The kindness in her voice makes Sil have to blink have tears before they start falling. Gracious. She does not cry in public. She  _does not._

"I've a train to catch," Sil mumbles, but allows Serena to guide her to an empty chair behind the counter without much of a fight. As she sits there and watches Serena heat up a pan of liquid chocolate, she feels like a lonely little child with nowhere to go. Maybe that's exactly what she is. A drifter without a real home.

"I was shocked when I heard who you really are," Serena idly says as she stirs the pan. She looks behind her, realizes that Sil isn't paying much attention, and studies the girl. Head hanging, Silver Lamprey Cornelius looks  _nothing_  like the confident woman she remembers gracing her shop all those months ago. Serena's seen plenty of heartache in her time, but she's not sure if she's seen it so bad in one person before.

Frowning at the girl, Serena prompts, "You look like you need someone to talk to."

Sil glowers up at her and huffs, "I'm fine, darling. I don't need anyone."

Serena raises an eyebrow at the petulant words. It sounds like she's trying to convince herself that it's true.

Humming, Serena sighs, "Well, at least drink some of this. It'll make you feel better."

She takes a paper to go cup and fills it with the spiced hot cocoa. She's about to hand it to Sil when a familiar face quickly walks by the shop on the sidewalk outside, and Sil stiffens. She lurches forward out of her chair and within seconds is pressed against the counter and the floor as if she's afraid that she'll be seen.

Serena's about to ask her what on earth she's doing when the door swings open rather violently and Finnick Odair rushes inside.

"Have you seen Sil?" he immediately asks, voice a little breathless from running. There's a wild look in his eye as he peers over at Serena's surprised face, and quickly demands, "Serena, did she come by here?"

When Annie had rushed upstairs in a flurry of apologetic energy to tell him what's happened, Finnick had been so shocked that for a few minutes, he could only stare at his best friend. She had frantically explained Sil's misunderstanding with watery eyes, as if Annie thought it was all her fault. Finnick had been quick to tell her that it wasn't, and quicker to rush out of the cottage in pursuit. Only, Silver Lamprey Cornelius is apparently very good at disappearing even in unknown territory, because he can't seem to find her.

Serena is so confused as to what's going on in her unassuming little corner shop that she stands there with her mouth flapping, ladle in one hand and to go cup in the other. She shoots a quick look down at Sil's horrified face and frowns.

For a terrifying second, Sil thinks she's going to give her away, but Serena just calmly says, "I didn't know she was in District 4."

Sil doesn't see, but Finnick deflates. He runs a hand over his face and responds, "If you see her, tell her to stop running away from me – damn it – " and he turns and rushes back outside just as quickly as he'd come in.

The moment he leaves, Serena turns to Sil with an unimpressed look and crosses her arms.

"What are you doing to that poor boy?" she demands, brows furrowed as she takes in the huddled, childish figure curled up on the floor of her shop. Sil just buries her head into her knees.

"This was a huge mistake!" she suddenly exclaims, throwing herself up into a standing position in one startling movement. Serena eyes her like she thinks she's crazy. Maybe she is. Maybe she's always been.

Serena quickly catches Sil's shoulders as she makes to leave, and stops her with a strong pull. Grasping her tightly, the older woman says, "Now listen up, Silver. I don't know what's going on, but just calm down and take a few deep breaths."

Sil sighs out in aggravation and snaps, "I need to catch my train before it strands me out here in this Godforsaken place!"

As if Sil's words physically harm her, Serena releases her. Sil doesn't seem to notice. She just grinds out, "I should never have come here. As if I would ever be able to live in this decrepit fishing village!" She glowers over at Serena, sees the hurt expression she's sending her, and falters. Immediately, she feels childish and silly for her outburst. To be honest, she feels silly for everything she's done in the last twenty four hours.

"…I'm sorry. I didn't mean that," she says quietly, and adds, "It's beautiful here and I…I think I'm the biggest fool in history."

Serena sighs. She looks down at the hot cocoa and slowly pushes it into Sil's hands.

"Love does that to you," she tells the younger woman, a knowing gleam in her eyes. "…It turns even the best of us into the damnest fools imaginable."

Sil's eyes fill with tears again. She stands there in the middle of Serena's corner shop looking as lost as she's ever been. She thinks, bitterly, that love also casts you so far astray that you don't even remember where you were going in the first place.

A year ago, she would have laughed herself silly if she could have foreseen this. Silver Lamprey Cornelius – falling in love with Finnick Odair? It's a ridiculous thought. She would never have believed it. But then, there were many things she wouldn't have believed back then. Like the fact that Finnick could feel something for her, too, even if it had only been for a short amount of time. And the fact that her own feelings brought her here to District 4, in what will be the biggest chance she'll ever take – Nightingale exploits included. She really is a fool, but not for the reason she's assuming.

She's a fool for hiding from him instead of confronting her own feelings. She's a fool for not finding Finnick and telling him, finally, that she wants to be with him so desperately that she thinks she might die a horrible, lonely death without him. She doesn't care if it sounds dramatic. She thinks, in this moment, that it's true.

"I should go," she tells Serena after a long minute. Clutching the hot cocoa in her hand, she reaches into her pocket to pull out some of the cash she had stuffed there, but Serena stops her.

"It's on the house," the woman says, and after a moment, she smiles and adds, "Do you remember that story I mentioned the last time you were in here? About the hot pepper?"

Sil looks up at her, fingers still holding the cash Serena will not take, and wrinkles her nose thoughtfully. It had been some kind of district legend, or something. It had to do with the pepper in the hot cocoa making people fall in love. Sil had thought it sounded a little silly back then, and Finnick clearly agreed with her. She had brushed it off carelessly. After all, there are plenty of stories like that in District 1, too, and none of them are ever taken seriously.

For some reason, though, Serena's looking down at Sil with a knowing look in her eye, as if she sees right through her, down to the core of who she is. Whatever she sees, it makes her smile quietly at Sil.

Sil realizes something, then. The way Serena is quietly smiling at her reminds her very clearly of the way Mags had smiled at her. Mags – she hasn't thought about the old woman in a long time. Her life has just been so consuming that such wayward thoughts haven't sparked through her recently at all. But now the old Victor's face suddenly unfurls in her mind as if she's right there in the room with them.

Mags had known all along that Sil and Finnick were good together. Even before anyone else saw it, the old lady just  _knew_. If only Sil had realized it just as quickly, perhaps the conflicts between them could be erased just as easily!

"It's pretty rare, you know," Serena murmurs with a shrug. At Sil's look of confusion, she explains, "I've had this little shop for a long time, but I've never seen that legend come true until you and Finnick stepped in here."

The words make Sil huff. She looks down at the hot cocoa and mutters, "What you saw was a fake relationship that Snow forced us into."

But Serena just raises an eyebrow and glances at the door, as if remembering the way Finnick had rushed in with that wild look in his eye. She hums, "Was it?"

The question is rhetorical, but Sil feels as though it's more important than that. With her throbbing heart and her teary eyes, though, she doesn't really have the strength to figure it all out. She thinks that it probably doesn't matter anymore anyway. Not now.

She gives Serena a sad smile and says, "Thanks for…everything." Then Sil turns and walks out of the shop, heading to the station as quickly as she can. Serena watches her go with a sigh, and shakes her head.

As Sil makes her way to the station, Finnick is nowhere to be found. The conflicting emotions she feels upon this realization aren't anything new to her when it concerns him. In a way, they've dogged her steps from the very beginning.

She's feeling much more resigned by the time she boards the train fifteen minutes later. Yet, as she sits down and cradles the untouched hot chocolate in front of her, watching the train take her closer and closer to the Capitol, all she wants to do is cry.

She doesn't, of course. Silver Lamprey Cornelius does not cry. Instead, she just glowers down into her cup. She's not sure she fools anyone, but then again, it's not like there's anyone here to fool anyhow.


	75. I know what it means to be infinite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Finnick takes Sil rather off guard.
> 
> Well, we are now at the final official chapter of The Sterling Nightingale. I'll be posting the epilogue on Thursday, and the epilogue series will be up shortly after that. We aren't quite finished with Sil and Finnick's story, after all. I fully intend on giving them the happiness they deserve!   
>  Make sure everyone reads the author's note for the next update, as there will be some important things you won't want to miss regarding the epilogue series!

 

**Chapter Seventy Five | I know what it means to be infinite**

" _She knew in a moment that for the past few months she had been mistaken: that this man who stood here before her, cold as a statue, when her musical voice struck upon his ear, loved her, as he had loved her a year ago: that his passion might have been dormant, but that it was there, as strong, as intense, as overwhelming, as when first her lips met his in one long, maddening kiss." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

Finnick turns the town inside out looking for her. He doesn't find her. He's not sure if he's surprised or not. As the Sterling Nightingale, Sil knows how to stay under the radar. She's slipped right through his fingers.

An hour later, he finds himself at the docks. He knows she isn't here. To be honest, he's not sure why his feet have carried him to this part of the district. Maybe it's because, to him, the water has always had the startling ability to soothe any wounds. But as he sits down on the pier in front of his unnamed boat, he reckons that this time, even the ocean can't fix the pain that tears through him. Can he be blamed? The woman he loves has a terrible penchant of running away from him at the worst of times. It's maddening and he's frankly tired of it.

He's not sure how long he sits there. An hour maybe. Time slips by with the lapping sound of the water against the docks, and it's impossible to gauge how much of it passes. He doesn't care. He just stares at the helm of the boats lined up at the pier. All of them have names. Fiddler's Rest. The Sea Shanty. Lady Luck. He studies them quietly, then glances over at his own boat. The unmarked helm is like a curse.

Footsteps sound behind him, but Finnick doesn't look up even when Rory's familiar voice grunts, "What're you doing here? Figured you'd be cozying up with your girl right about now. Whole town's talking about the way she stormed through the place like a damned hurricane."

Finnick huffs out a humorless laugh and mutters, "Yeah. She stormed right back out of it too, before I even realized she was here."

The admission seems to come as a surprise to Rory. The older man looks at Finnick with a raised eyebrow and a keen expression, and drawls, "Well you must have a spell on you, otherwise you'd be storming after her."

Finnick sends him an annoyed look that Rory hardly even blinks at. He's going to tell him he doesn't know what he's talking about, but before he gets the chance, Della strolls up behind her husband with a frustrated look on her face and barks, "What the hell happened, Odair?"

Finnick sighs. Apparently, everyone knows about his love life before even he does.

Glowering over at Della's sharp expression, he says, "She took one look at Annie, thought I knocked her up, and left before I could explain it all to her."

The explanation makes Rory and Della turn to look at each other in shock, before the pair of them burst out into boisterous laughter. The sound echoes over the docks and across the water loudly, making Finnick roll his eyes. He's not really in the mood to be laughed at right about now.

"Well I'll be damned," Della chortles. She looks like this entire situation is hilarious, and Rory seems to agree. Wiping her eyes, Della remarks, "You're a great sailor, Finnick, but when it comes to women, you're a damned blind fool."

Rory snorts, "In all fairness, Dell, his girl seems pretty blind too."

Della and Rory look at each other, shrug in agreement, and then start laughing all over again as if they've never been more amused in their whole lives than they are now. Finnick's getting a little tired of it. He loves the both of them like family, but honestly.

He turns away from them and leans against the pier with a dark expression. Rory smirks at the sight he makes and nudges his wife gently. He nods to her, and then says in a slightly gentler voice – as gentle as a man like him can get, he reckons – "Did I ever tell you how I courted my sweet Della?" Finnick looks surprised at the topic change and glances over at the pair with an unimpressed look. Rory laughs at him.

"She kept rejecting me – damned woman," he mutters, and Della chuckles at him. He sends her a wink and says, "So one night after my shift I wrote her a fancy poem and snuck it under her door."

At this, Della laughs, "It wasn't a poem, you fool, it was a dirty limerick!"

Rory glowers at her and defends, "It was an expression of my love for you, woman."

Della rolls her eyes. "It was an  _expression_  of how much you wanted to get under my skirts, you lecherous old man."

"Well it worked, didn't it?" Rory exclaims, eyes gleaming with amusement and love. His wife chortles out another laugh, and Finnick smiles mirthfully at them.

Rory adds, "Well, it didn't work immediately. Actually, next time she saw me, she slapped me right across the face. Damn well knocked my jaw out of place. Whenever a storm rolls in, I still feel the bruise – that's how I know it's gonna be a bad one."

Della barks out a laugh and nudges him playfully. Finnick laughs too – it's hard not to. The two of them are perfect for each other. They're both crazy and tough and in love, even after all this time.

Rory slips his arm around Della and drags her forcefully against him, chuckling, "Took me a while to make her see things from my perspective. Didn't give up though. I knew that if I didn't get her, I'd never be able to settle for anyone else."

They both smile at each other, eyes light and happy. After a moment, Della turns to Finnick and says, "We don't like to admit it, Odair, but us women sometimes need a little nudge in the right direction. If she's it for you, you'd better get yourself on one of those trains and make sure she knows it before it's too late."

Rory adds, "Just write her a dirty limerick. Trust me."

Finnick laughs loudly at this, and Della soon joins in, but Finnick doesn't stay for very long.

He's got someone to see, and this time, he isn't going to let her get away from him.

* * *

He hasn't been in the Capitol since the end of the war. It's odd entering the city again. He could draw the skyline from memory, if he was artistically inclined. He's been here often enough to know it by heart.

His train pulls into the station at half past seven. The sky is already darkening, and now boasts a dark blue pallor that allows the city lights plenty of room to shine. Many people stop and stare at him as he walks by. His fame hasn't yet decreased to the point where he can lose himself in a crowd. As the colorful creatures point and murmur his name, he wonders if it ever will.

It's strange walking through the city. The entire atmosphere is different, and so are the looks he receives. It seems that his rebel status brings a new layer to his character that makes these Capitolites confused as to who he really is. He thinks it's better than the headaches that would result in people screaming his name and throwing out their numbers, though.

The atmosphere of the Capitol has changed too. The flamboyant fashions are still here, though they've been dialed down somewhat. Finnick isn't sure if that's because of the altered sentiments charging through the country at large, or just because the trade routes have opened up to include all the other districts, and not just the Capitol. Maybe he's being cynical, but he assumes it's the latter.

At Rory and Della's behest, he decided that he isn't just going to let Sil run away from him again. That crazy woman is going to sit down and listen to what he's got to say to her. He's spent a lot of time on the train thinking it over, and he confidently walks through the streets now, ready to tell her how ridiculous she is and how much he loves her – in what order, he isn't yet sure.

To be honest, his entire plan hinges around the assumption that Sil is in fact in the Capitol, and not in District 1. He isn't entirely sure which train she boarded or where it was headed. But – District 1 is a stone's throw away from this city, only an hour by rail, and if he must return to the Cornelius estate to make her see reason, then he will.

Ducking down the streets as discretely as he can is hard to do when his face is so well known. Finnick eventually hails a cab once he gets to a more populated intersection. It's faster, and quieter.

As the taxi takes him into the heart of the Capitol, he has to admit that he's a tiny bit nervous. But mostly he's frustrated and steadfast, because he can see the situation in a far clearer way than he'd been able to before. Sil wouldn't have come to his cottage for no reason. It had just been bad luck that Annie had been there today, and worse still that Silver Lamprey Cornelius doubts his love for her to such an extent. Well he will set her right, and he won't waste time doing so.

He's wasted enough time. Weeks have slipped through his fingers. He should have gone to see her in District 1 when it had become apparent that she wasn't coming to him. Instead he had doubted her, too, when in fact they've just been misunderstanding each other all this time. He thinks, as the cab pulls up to the sidewalk and spits him back out into the metallic city air, that the both of them are idiots.

Sil's apartment looms up in front of him. He stands there on the pavement for a moment before taking a deep breath and walking forward. He doesn't think until he's already in the elevator that maybe she doesn't even live here anymore. What will he do if she's changed apartments? He falters for a moment, before shaking his head. He'll call Gemma, that's what he'll do. He'll demand Sil's new address and he won't take no for an answer. That woman has frustrated him for far too long for him to just give up now.

The elevator dings. He steps off. He walks down the hall, stops in front of her door, and only hesitates for a moment or two before knocking firmly.

Inside the apartment, Sil is busy hooking earrings onto her ears. She glances idly at the door, then at the clock, and calls, "It's open!"

She's expecting Tommy to pick her up for the soiree being held tonight at the new opera house. Dressed extravagantly in a tight-fitting cream cocktail dress that hugs her curves and offsets her sun kissed skin, she looks beautiful. Since returning to her apartment a few hours before, she's spent a lot of time covering up her puffy eyes and ensuring that she's prepared for a night of forced laughter and fake smiles. Tommy's supposed to be picking her up any minute now. The soiree starts in less than an hour and she's expecting that they'll probably miss the beginning of it.

She stands in front of her mirror that's hanging near her apartment door, head twisted to the side so that she can hook her earrings into place. She hears the door open, but her face is turned in the other direction, so she can't see Tommy. No matter. Sil just chimes, "You're late, darling."

The voice that answers her is not the one she's expecting to hear.

"I know," Finnick Odair drawls, and Sil freezes in place, her hands still by her ear, earring quite forgotten.

Very slowly, she turns her head. A part of her wonders if she's imagining things, but the sight of Finnick standing in her doorway is not one that even  _her_  inventive mind can conjure. As if suspended in time, she stares at him with huge eyes. She's still frozen in place when Finnick shuts the door, steps over to her, and reaches into the pocket of his trousers.

He's got some kind of paper. She's got no idea what it is until he unfolds it and hands it over without a word. Her arms move as if by themselves, hands reaching out to grasp the outstretched paper as her eyes alight on its contents. The words 'Petition for Divorce' blanch across the top of the page like a curse, and Sil stares at the harsh black letters with expressive eyes. What really draws her gaze, though, is the bottom half of the paper.

Beside her own looping signature that she had marked the page with months ago, Finnick's name has been written innumerable times. Each one is slashed through. Some of the signatures are written in blue ink, some in black, one even in red, but they are all crossed out. She stares at the effaced signatures with a confused expression, searching for the one that is not crossed out - the one that will tell her that the reason he is here, handing this document to her now, is to get rid of her once and for all. She doesn't find one.

The room is so silent that a pin could drop and they would be able to hear it land.

Then, without a word, Finnick grasps the top of the paper, and Sil's eyes trail up to watch as he rips the cursed thing in half.

Her hands drop away. She stares at him in shocked silence as he takes the two pieces and rips them further, and further, until they are merely scraps of paper that hold no meaning. And then he steps up to her, and his hands cup her face and Sil turns to look at him with eyes that are quickly filling with tears – and Finnick stares down at her for only a moment before he drags her into him and presses his mouth against hers.

She's so caught off guard that all she can do is stand there while he kisses her, mind whirling with the disorientating effect of his abrupt presence and everything that it means. He doesn't seem to care. He only brings her closer, kisses her deeper, until Sil's eyes shut and she melts against him with a tearful gasp.

Gracious.

After a good minute of this, Sil frowns and mumbles, "Annie – "

But Finnick only kisses her back into silence, utterly unwilling to think about anyone but her. He only explains once he's gotten his fill of her – for now, at least. It takes him several lengthy minutes, not that Sil really minds.

When he finally pulls away, resting his forehead against hers, he tells her, "You're a stupid girl, Silver."

She gawks at him, half in outrage, half in confusion, until he chuckles, "Annie's my  _best friend._  That's all she ever was and all she ever will be, you know why?" At her bewildered silence, Finnick heaves her closer and tells hers, "Because, Silver Lamprey Cornelius, contrary to popular belief, I'm a one woman kind of guy. And you're it for me."

She looks up at him with wide eyes and flounders against his chest, totally and irrevocably stunned.

She blurts, "But Annie's – "

"Pregnant?" he interrupts again, and smirks at the flash of annoyance that stifles through her gaze. He scoffs, "Yeah, she is. Will was really happy about it too. He's gonna ask her to marry him. Picked out a ring and everything."

Utterly baffled, Sil falters, "…Will?"

His eyes flash, and she clutches him tightly with shaking fingers, as if she's afraid that she's going to fall. Impossible. He only pulls her closer and softly explains, "The man Annie fancies."

She thinks she's never been so speechless in all her life. Sil stares at Finnick for a very long moment, and he just waits right where he is, centimeters away, until she breathes, "I'm an idiot."

A playful smile catches his mouth. It makes his eyes glimmer as they lock with hers. Her breath catches in her throat when he lowly agrees, "Yeah. You are." Her eyes blaze at him (he isn't supposed to agree with her) but Finnick just lists, "You're an idiot for thinking that I'm not completely in love with you. You're an idiot for running away from me, you're an idiot for – "

"Oh for God's sake, Finnick, do shut up," she cuts in, and drags his mouth against hers.

As he leans into her, he mumbles, "I'm an idiot too. I should've done this months ago."

The murmured agreement that she breathes out makes him laugh against her lips and pulls her into a kiss that makes her toes curl and her heart skip a beat and – Gracious, but she's quite forgotten how incredible he is at kissing, and she very quickly proceeds to lose sight of everything that isn't him. Until, of course, a cough sounds at her door.

"I take it you're not going out tonight?" Tommy asks in amusement, leaning against the threshold with his arms crossed. His eyes are mischievous as he takes in the pair, and only get worse when Sil's cheeks explode into a blush.

Finnick looks over his shoulder at the other man, and releases Sil. She huffs at Tommy's interruption, but all her complaints die on her tongue when Finnick goes to the door and responds, "She's not going anywhere." And then he shuts the door in Tommy's face, much to the man's amusement as he barks out a laugh that can just barely be heard through the wood.

Finnick doesn't take further notice of him though. Instead he turns back to Sil, eyes her figure with a smirk, and takes her off guard for a second time that night when he grasps her hips and throws her over his shoulder.

"Finnick!" she exclaims, shocked at his move. "This isn't  _proper_  – "

"Silver, there are a lot of things I plan on doing with you tonight, and  _none_  of them are proper," he says, and throws her onto her bed with a heave of muscle.

She stares at him with huge eyes, hair mussed, heart thumping wildly, and all she can say is, "…Oh."

He tips his head back and laughs at her. He's addicted to this feeling of happiness that has eluded him for so long, and it shows at every angle, like a diamond that's been cut so precisely that it illuminates each beautiful twist of light. Sil thinks she's never seen him so happy. His smile blinds her so much, it could rival the sun.

Still laughing, Finnick crawls onto the bed and pulls her roughly against him. Her breath leaves her absolutely. It doesn't matter. Not when Finnick grasps her waist and says, "Come here."

And –

She goes, of course. Really, she should have gone  _ages_  ago.

* * *

When Sil wakes up, she thinks she's still dreaming. Finnick is still asleep, his arm flung firmly around her waist. She feels his even breath against her forehead, and when she opens her eyes, she's met with the sight of his bare chest. She lifts her head to stare at him for a long moment, and bites her lip because, well…it isn't every day that she finds Finnick Odair in her bed, after all. Starting now though, she quite intends on making it a permanent thing.

Grinning like a fool at the thought, Sil brushes some of his hair out of his eyes and leans down to kiss him. It's a very gentle kiss, the kind that is barely felt at all, but Finnick must've been in a lighter sleep than she had thought because as she pulls away, one of his hands reaches up to tangle into her hair and he drags her back down. She gasps a little and chuckles against him, but she certainly isn't going to deny him.

"Morning," he whispers and the kiss dissolves, fingers still tangled in her hair. His eyes flutter open. Sil rather thinks that the morning light makes them shine even brighter.

She smiles bashfully and murmurs, "Good morning." And then they fall silent, just grinning at each other like love-struck idiots. Well if this is what she gets to wake up to every morning, she's very much okay with that.

It's like she can't  _stop_  smiling. Like her mouth is incapable of twisting into another emotion. Lowering herself down beside him, Sil buries herself against the pillow and sighs out. Finnick rolls over to face her, raising a hand to wrap his fingers around hers as he studies her.

After a long moment of utter silence, he quietly asks, "You okay?"

She isn't entirely sure what he's referring to, but she's got a pretty good idea. The last time she's been intimate with someone, it hadn't been her choice and it had left its mark on her, both physically and emotionally. To be honest, she'd been a little wary about last night, but he had kindled her passion like no one else can, and she hadn't even given at thought at all to Felix and his repulsive treatment of her.

She gives him a quiet smile and nods. He smiles back, softly, like the sight of her is something sacred to be cherished. There's something in his eyes, though – a certain carefulness that tells her he's got something more to say. So she waits, and after he gathers himself, Finnick murmurs, "Your hands are shaking. They were before, too, at the wedding. Is it because…?"

She looks at her fingers, intertwined as they are with Finnick's, and purses her lips. In a stilted voice, she mumbles, "The doctors say that with enough physical therapy, it will get better."

But they had told her that months ago, and she wonders if her hands will ever be the same as they once were. The thought saddens her. You often don't realize how precious something is until it is ripped from you.

Finnick doesn't respond. He just pulls her fingers to his mouth and kisses them silently. Then, after another minute of peaceful silence, Finnick whines, "I'm starving. Make me a sandwich." And Sil bursts out into laughter at the childish plead.

Together they laugh on the bed like little kids – until they remember that they are  _not_  little kids, when Finnick scoops her up and carries her off the mattress with a loud laugh. Sil clutches his bare shoulders tightly, cheeks subtly pink as their bodies press together.

"A sandwich for breakfast?" she asks him in a perfectly imperious voice. He smirks and slowly lets her down, watching her eyes flash as her body slides against his. She swallows at the proximity, and scrambles for her robe before he can watch her any more. It's just – a tiny bit nerve wracking when a man like Finnick Odair looks at her like that.

As she hurriedly throws it on, Finnick bites back a grin at her antics and shrugs, "Well, I missed dinner last night cause I was chasing down this girl who I'm madly in love with."

Sil immediately freezes as she's busy tying the robe together. When she peeks up at Finnick, he's got his arms crossed as he stands in all his nude glory, hardly batting an eye at his position. Instead, he's watching her with a dark, molten gaze, waiting to see how she responds to his sudden and unexpected declaration.

Well.

She tilts her head at him and playfully drawls, "Oh? Were you? And what happened, pray tell?"

His mouth twitches into a grin. "Well," he slowly says, stepping over to her as he shrugs, "I caught her."

Sil laughs as he wraps his arms around her, mimicking his words as he pulls her against him. Her hands fly to his sides, where she clutches him and softly wonders, "And what are you going to do now, Finnick? Now that you've caught this elusive creature?"

The sound of his name in the tones of her still sleepy voice makes him shiver. He inhales thoughtfully, studying her bright eyes and the light dusting of freckles across her cheeks and the way the morning sun makes her white-blonde hair shine like frosted glass, and he murmurs, "First, I'm going to make myself a sandwich."

She bites her lips in amusement, but he isn't finished.

"Then after we've had breakfast, I'm going to convince you to cancel all your plans for the day so we can spend it in bed," he lowly says, smirking at the sight of her blush. He chuckles at her, runs his fingers through her long hair, and finishes in an almost hesitant voice, "And then…I'm going to inform you of all the merits of living in District 4. With me."

Her eyes fly up to his. There's a wary look in his gaze, as if he's not sure what type of response he should expect from her. She exhales slowly at the sight of it. That careful expression wouldn't be there if she had gone to him before. In fact, they wouldn't even be here now if they hadn't decided to be so stubborn.

She wants to get rid of that wary look, so Sil's hands skim up his chest. As she thumbs over his collarbone, she murmurs quietly, "Well there's only one thing you need to convince me of, Finnick darling."

He pauses, then raises an eyebrow in question. She gives him a mischievous smile, "That you'll let me redecorate the cottage, because gracious – Finnick, the downstairs living room should be a lighter color, you know. It would be far more welcoming if it were a pastel, and I could see some strands of seashells hanging off the – mmph!"

He kisses her so suddenly that Sil's head is pushed back, only for one of his hands to weave into her hair at the last second and pull her back in. She melts against his kiss with a breathless moan and clutches at his shoulders tightly. She's not really sure what the meaning is behind his very passionate, very abrupt kiss, but Sil isn't about to complain.

After a few minutes, Finnick laughs against her mouth and buries his head against her shoulder. She's a little confused at the recent turn of events, but she just rubs his back and enjoys his proximity as he embraces her.

"You can do all the redecorating you want, Sil," he tells her earnestly, words slightly muffled against her skin. And she's not exactly sure, but she's got a feeling that there's something else at work here. Something she isn't fully aware of. She doesn't know what redecorating's got to do with it, but she just stands there in his arms and turns to press her lips against his cheek. He pulls her closer against him and sighs.

"Finnick…are you alright?" she quietly asks, and he chuckles as he pulls back to look down at her.

He studies her for a long minute. She raises an eyebrow at him, wondering what he sees, but he only gives her a wide smile and says, "I'll tell you what I am, sugar. I'm starving. I really hope you've got some decent food in this place."

At once, the atmosphere lightens, as if the sun itself has made a special appearance in the room. Sil laughingly huffs.

"If you're referring to my alter ego's ridiculous diet, then darling, I should probably tell you that I made all that up," she chimes with her nose in the air, and pulls away from him to pad off towards the kitchen. Finnick chuckles and makes to follow.

"Really?" he drawls as he watches her open the fridge. For a moment, he's distracted by the flawless image she makes as she loiters there in nothing but a flimsy silk robe. It's hard not to be distracted by the sight of her, especially when he had thought, before, that he would never have the chance at having a lazy morning with her again.

Sil throws him a look, wrinkled nose and all, and snarks, "Honestly. Red meat on Wednesdays?" She laughs at him and playfully teases, "It was ever so fun watching you get all frustrated with me."

Her teasing seems to inspire something within him, because when she turns to look at him next, Finnick's got a very mischievous look in his eye. It immediately makes her a little wary, even as she sets down a carton of eggs to make an omelet.

When she goes to get a bowl, Finnick gasps with mock surprise, "Are you  _cooking?_  Don't you have maids for that?"

His question makes her burst out into laughter, remembering only too clearly how she'd asked him the same exact question during that morning back in District 4, on their faux romantic getaway.

Finnick laughs too, and steps around the counter to assist – only for Sil to let out a startled, "Finnick, put some pants on – gracious!"

The look he sends her is a mix between a pout and a smirk when he drawls, "Why? I've never eaten breakfast in the nude before. I think we should try it."

And then he's dragging her to him and playfully undoing the tie of her robe, much to Sil's shock. She can't help but laugh at him though, especially when he starts peppering her face with kisses.

"I am  _not_  eating breakfast naked," she tells him, voice set as if she's speaking to a child – though her eyes still twinkle with amusement when Finnick's smirk turns into more of a pout.

He only pauses for a moment before shrugging and releasing her. As he backs away, he shoots her mischievous expression and quips, "I'll convince you one day, sugar."

She just huffs at him as he strides back into the bedroom to put something on, but honestly, she's far from annoyed. The moment he leaves, a wide grin splits over her face, primarily because of one reason. There had been a promise in his voice. It had nothing to do with the manner in which he wants to eat breakfast with her. (Well, perhaps a little bit of that, but – ) No, Sil hears something far better: that there will be many, many more mornings like this one, and that he intends on spending them all with her.

She's still grinning when he returns. Finnick takes one look at her smiling face and grins too, because even though he doesn't know the exact reason why she's smiling, her happiness is infectious and he's completely addicted to the way her grin makes her cheeks dimple ever so slightly.

As he slips behind her and leans down to kiss those cheeks, Finnick murmurs playfully, "Better hurry up, sugar. I've got a lot planned for this day in bed."

And really, the blush that spreads over her face isn't the only thing that makes him feel giddy and happier than anything he's felt in a very, very long time – it's also the playful way she nudges him in retribution and the look she gives him over her shoulder and the way she doesn't complain when he circles his arms around her waist and rests his chin against her, and –

Well, even if happiness is as fleeting as the poets say, he doesn't care. He intends on making his own happiness, and he doesn't think there will be anything fleeting about the joy he feels at the mere thought of spending his life with this woman.

He watches Sil crack a few eggs into the pan. Her fingers shake a little, but her movements are as quick as ever. For a moment, he stares at her fingers, and the ring that she once again wears on them. As she fiddles with the heat of the stove, Finnick abruptly pulls back and says, "Sil…come here a minute."

She looks over at him with a confused expression, hand still lingering on the dial of the stove. He gestures for her to turn towards him, and she does, eyes questioning. She turns even more confused when he nods to her hand, "Your ring. Can I have it for a second?"

"…Why?" she asks with a tilt of her head.

He just impatiently holds his hand out, until she slips the ring off her finger and drops it into his palm.

"What are you doing?" she idly wonders, and turns back to the pan to make sure the eggs aren't burning. When he doesn't respond, she glances back to him and what she sees makes her freeze where she is. Finnick is on his knee in the middle of her kitchen, wearing only his boxer briefs, with his hair mussed up – and he's holding her pearl ring in front of him as he looks at her.

"If I loved you any less, I'd do this when we were both fully dressed, at some posh restaurant on the East End," he tells her with a laugh. "But I think we deserve to make the rest of our lives our own, don't you? Without having it publicized for once."

Sil lets out a surprised little laugh and turns to face him, looking down at the pearl ring that she had picked out herself, in her father's workshop. It represents every falsified moment between them. Every fake kiss, every overexaggerated shift of affection. It represents cameras and Snow.

She moves her gaze to Finnick, studies him for a moment, and murmurs, "Are you asking me to marry you again, Finnick Odair?"

He barks out a short laugh and jokes, "Nah, I'm just on my knee in front of you for the hell of it."

She snickers at him, but the grin that overtakes her face is true and wholesome. Here in the morning light of her Capitol apartment, which has seen so many unpleasant things transpire between them, he is creating a memory that is pure and beautiful and  _good_.

Finnick smiles boyishly at her and says, "Last time I proposed to you at Gigi's, I didn't want to. I mean – not then and there. I think I was already in love with you at that point to be honest, but I didn't know it yet." The bright way her eyes take him in makes him chuckle. "We got married because Snow made us. I spent half of our wedding night drinking wine and playing stupid games and the other half in a drugged-up stupor on my way to District 13."

At this, Sil twists her mouth and tells him, "I  _am_  sorry about that – "

But he just clears his throat to quiet her, and she falls back into an amused silence as he reaches for her hand. When he's got it, he presses a kiss to her skin and says, "I want to do it again. Marry you. But this time I want it to mean something real, and I want to spend our wedding night the way it should be spent."

As she watches him slide the pearl ring back onto her finger, she coyly wonders, "And how shall we spend it, darling?"

Finnick grins and gets up. In moments, he's dragging her against his body and murmuring, "I'm going to love you properly. And there won't be any cameras or Capitolites to get in the way."

He kisses her, with such fire that it smolders through her veins and makes her melt, and she happily lets him, but after a moment Sil pulls back to tease in her posh accent, "You're supposed to ask me if I  _want_  to marry you. You're doing this all wrong."

He exhales impatiently, grasping her waist to pull her closer, and breathes against her lips, "Will you marry me, you insufferable woman?"

At this, she laughs aloud and, leaning in further, she murmurs, "I suppose I ought to, since you ripped up the divorce papers last night."

He raises an eyebrow at her, pulls away, and lightly demands, "Stop teasing me and tell me yes or no."

She reaches up to palm his cheek, following him back to press her mouth against his and whisper, "Yes. I'll marry you, Finnick."

That's apparently all he needs to hear, because he grins against her lips and drags her into a deep kiss, pulling her tight against him with a chuckle. As he tilts her head back and trails a blaze of kisses down her neck, he sighs against her skin, "For real this time."

And she tangles her fingers into his hair and breathlessly repeats, "For real…"

The eggs end up burning in the pan, but they're so busy kissing and laughing and loving and – they end up forgetting about breakfast entirely.


	76. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are, at the end of all things. ;) I posted an author's note below the epilogue this time, so I'll let you all read the finale of The Sterling Nightingale without further ado.

 

**Epilogue**

" _The rest is silence! Silence and joy for those who had endured so much suffering, yet found at last a great and lasting happiness." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel_

Suitcases packed, Sil and Finnick stand at the edge of the train station's platform. The sun is cresting into midday high above them, and for the first time either of them can remember, there is no crowd of Capitolite fanatics cheering them off. It's positively normal, standing there clutching his hand in hers as they wait for their train, and it feels stunningly perfect.

Her mind drifts back to the last time they had taken a train together into District 4. Mouth quirking up as she recalls the way he'd lifted her onto the platform and pulled her dramatically into a kiss, Sil glances over at him wryly and can't stop her laugh from bubbling over her lips at the memory. Finnick looks down at her with a questioning expression.

"What is it?" he asks, squeezing her hand playfully as he studies the mischievous gleam of her eyes. He used to deny how his heart would leap at such a sight, but time and understanding has dulled that instinct down. He takes her in with a look of adoration that he doesn't even bother diminishing.

Sil nudges him and chuckles, "I was just thinking about the frankly abhorrent way you kissed me that last time I agreed to travel to District 4 with you." Her tone is as playful as her eyes, and she dramatically shivers as if the memory makes her cringe. Finnick smirks at her and scoffs, amused at her theatrics.

"Well we had a crowd of adoring fans to placate," he reminds her, slanting his eyes over her expression. Then, shrugging, he adds, "Besides, I didn't really  _want_  to kiss you back then."

She huffs at him. "Well!" she responds, shoving her nose into the air and edging away from him. Finnick smirks and hauls her back against him before she can wrangle her hand free. He's not letting her go so easily.

"If it's any consolation, the more I kissed you, the more I liked it," he tells her after a beat of silence, wearing his most mischievous smile – the one that makes Sil's heart shaky and frantic.

She makes a haughty sound in the back of her throat and sighs, "It really says a lot about your character, you know darling. The fact that you fell for  _that_  version of me is extremely off-putting." She bites back a smirk of her own and slices her gaze into his.

Finnick puts a hand on his chest in mock hurt and pouts, "Most women would find that romantic."

She immediately scoffs, "Please. Even _I_  couldn't stand the person I was forced to play."

It's true. She had played the role of the foppish, idiotic Silver Lamprey Cornelius because she was the right person for the job, and she wasn't just going to hang back and not fight for what she believed in. But every day was filled with a very peculiar torture like none other. Having to don that mask and act like the idiot everyone thought she was for seven long years had been a lot harder than it seemed, at the onset of it all.

Finnick draws an arm around her shoulders and murmurs, "You weren't so bad, sugar." She sends him a look, and he laughs, "Alright, you were pretty bad, but there were moments when I could see the real you. It confused the hell out of me, but I was addicted to trying to figure you out."

Sil snorts but doesn't try to move away from him. Instead she snuggles closer, delighting in the effortless way she can put her arm around his waist and hold him in public without any ulterior motives or pretenses dogging their every move. She hums, "It was hard, hiding myself from you. You didn't make it easy for me."

He looks down at her and smiles. Squeezing her shoulders gently, he thinks back on the dizzying events of the past year. His thoughts linger more specifically on the most recent couple of months spent in separation, and he slowly responds, "I want us to be honest with each other from now on. If you're unhappy, you'll tell me, okay?"

Sil looks up at him, catching his eye. She studies him for a moment, wondering at the serious tone his voice has taken, before she quietly says, "Only if you agree to the same."

Something about the way her voice cascades over the words makes the solemn atmosphere between them shatter. His mouth quirks up, and he can't help but joke, "You'll regret saying that."

Sil laughs. In the distance, the sound of a train whistle can be heard on the horizon. The noise drags her abruptly back into the present and out of the little world they create whenever they're together. At once, she's reminded of what she's about to do. Where she's about to go.

Holding him tighter, Sil whispers, "I'm ready."

She's not sure where the words come from or what, exactly, she's trying to say, but Finnick seems to understand in the innate way lovers often do. He smiles widely and hauls one of her suitcases into his hand as the train slowly pulls into the station.

"Well then, let's go," he tells her, holding out his hand again. She takes it, lifting her other suitcase and following him to the train.

And then – in a rather amusing attempt to recreate a less than stellar bygone moment, Finnick lifts her onto the step, pushes the suitcase after her, and pulls her into a kiss that leaves her breathless and laughing. There are no crowds to witness the spontaneity of the moment. No cameras capturing the press of his hands against her waist or the low hum of happiness that escapes her throat. This scene will not be published in any ridiculous tabloid magazine or aired on any frivolous daytime television show, and Caesar will not ask them about it in their next interview, because –

This moment belongs to them, and no one else.

**THE END**

* * *

To everyone who has gone on this journey alongside me, thank you. This story took a long time to write, but I enjoyed every moment of it. I hope you all did as well.

If you are interested in continuing Sil and Finnick's story, the first chapter of the sequel will be up on Tuesday. I have several chapters written already for this sequel piece, but have purposefully left it unfinished so that I can incorporate any scene requests that my readers have. Please don't be shy if you have a scene that you would like to see, whether it's between Sil and Finnick, or one of the other characters from TSN. I would love to expand this epilogue series so that it caters to all of my lovely readers, as a thank you for being so incredible and leaving such kind feedback in the past. Leave a review or a PM if you have an idea or a request, and I'll try my best to incorporate it into the story.

For anyone who is interested, here is the poem that I wrote for the chapter titles of The Sterling Nightingale, written out in its original format:

* * *

_I._

_It is the in between of love and hate –_

_the vast array of stars laid out_

_in Medusa's deadly embrace,_

_that catches you as a storm_

_might catch a ship in the center of the sea,_

_overflowing with pale waves which_

_crest my heart and soul –_

_that haunts me._

_A purgatory of flushed sound_

_(scraping over the dogged end of our humanity)_

_that captures me with such prowess_

_as to tip the sides of this ship_

_o'er the clash of love;_

_and swept behind a curtain that hangs in the suspense,_

_I am lost_

_to you._

_II._

_And why is it that in the early mornings,_

_when the sun is only a spark of fire_

_and the gentle pallor of dawn_

_casts its elusive shadows upon the earth,_

_that I find myself so_

_deeply_

_in love?_

_You are the center of this torrent,_

_the cascading lilt of a single fiddle that wrenches to its knees_

_all other sound._

_It makes no difference whether you are mine or_

_simply breathing,_

_belonging to no one at all_

_and to everyone at once_

_like a chorus of notes spinning_

_one_

_after_

_another_

_endlessly._

_III._

_Inhaling you is like breathing in an entire galaxy._

_I might pretend that it does not unnerve me –_

_this strange provocation, this_

_upheaval –_

_but it does._

_For I am lost_

_to the way my mismatched soul fits against yours;_

_to the undercurrent of your smile_

_that presses the depth of the ocean into_

_my soul._

_IV._

_You are a blaze of wildfire_

_and an icy ocean all in one._

_Even Poseidon would have trouble navigating the layers of your truths._

_I am but mortal; my power_

_does not lie in the infinities of the Gods,_

_nor does it find purchase_

_in the extravagance of well-bred intricacies_

_that you hold so dear._

_I am a poor sailor,_

_a veteran of wind and rain_

_with no secrets, anymore, to keep me afloat._

_And you –_

_you are as undiminished as the stars that guide me home,_

_a beacon to the heavens upon my weary soul,_

_but when I hold you, I believe that_

_I know what it means to be infinite._

* * *

I hope to see you all on the sequel piece that continues their story. Again, please don't hesitate to send me any requests that you may have!

Thank you all again,

**CrashingPetals**


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